


Only then I am human

by opalsandlace



Series: Only then I am human [1]
Category: Black Panther (2018), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Canon Divergence - Black Panther (2018), Dora Milaje!Reader, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, Erik Has Feelings, Erik Killmonger Angst, Erik Killmonger Lives, Erik has Issues, Eventual Romance, F/M, Forbidden Love, Not Canon Compliant, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Second Person, Reader-Insert, Slow Burn, Song: Take Me To Church (Hozier), Title from a Hozier Song, sequel to come
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-05
Updated: 2020-06-22
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:27:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 30,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22133275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/opalsandlace/pseuds/opalsandlace
Summary: King T'Challa, ever compassionate, could not bear to let N'Jadaka die. Now a prisoner and traitor to the great nation, N'Jadaka must decide if his anger is worth holding on to.  As Bast would have it, someone new in his life may help him do just that.
Relationships: Erik Killmonger/Reader
Series: Only then I am human [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1593151
Comments: 45
Kudos: 83





	1. prologue

**Author's Note:**

> series inspired by a tumblr prompt (of course). cross-posted to opalsandlace.tumblr.com

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> T'Challa must decide who will care for a dangerous traitor.

“He’s lucky I didn’t let him die on the table!” Shuri yelled, eyes red with burgeoning tears.

“He is your cousin, Shuri! Traitor or not!” Queen Ramonda replied sternly.

T’Challa stood between them silently. He watched the steady rise and fall of the chest of the man in front of him.

N’Jadaka lay before them, resting soundly. He had been sedated for medical treatment, but Shuri had given him a little extra until they could figure out who would continue his care. T’Challa had made the difficult decision to let him live, despite his cousin’s own wishes. He still wasn’t sure what N’Jadaka’s role would be in their family, their country. He refused to keep him locked away for the rest of his life. But to give him total freedom would surely be dangerous. He sighed and rested his head in his hands. Ramonda placed a comforting hand on his shoulder.

“What you did was very noble, my son,” she said.

“What you did was very  _ stupid,  _ brother _.  _ He will have to wake up eventually and when he does, it is you who will have to deal with him.” Shuri stormed out, leaving her few lab assistants milling about uncomfortably.

T’Challa turned to his mother.

“Have I made a mistake?” he asked.

“You do what you felt was right. And that, my son, is never a mistake.” She gave his cheek an affectionate squeeze before taking her leave.

_ It is just you and me, cousin _ , he thought to himself.

He sighed for the umpteenth time that day. His father had made governance seem so easy. Nearly every decision he made, he did with confidence. As a child, T’Challa had believed that the heart-shaped herb granted more than just strength. He used to believe it provided wisdom and immeasurable knowledge of the world and what was beyond it. He was wrong. He was at a loss.

“Why did you do it, eh?” he asked the unconscious man before him. “How many people were you willing to sacrifice for your dreams? Who else would you crush for your own selfish reasons?”

He shook his head. Wakanda had come so close to destruction. After thousands of years of advancement and assurance, it had nearly all come crashing down. And for what? Some misguided illusion of justice. To some extent, T’Challa understood his cousin’s motives. His fury. His sense of abandonment. The way that he had been wronged first by his family and then by the nation in which he had grown. But the bloodlust. His blind annihilation of everyone who stood in his way. That is what transformed him from misguided to dangerous. Did even have a place in Wakanda anymore? Did he have the right?

_ Bast, how will I fix this? How will I fix him? _

T’Challa kept vigil at his cousin’s side for hours. Eventually, he fell asleep

* * *

_ Pain. _

That was the first sensation his brain registered.

Pain?

That wasn’t right. There shouldn’t be any suffering on the ancestral plane.

That could only mean one thing: T’Challa had been too soft to let him die. And now, he was who-knows-where. A prisoner. 

N’Jadaka struggled to lift his heavy lids. He was met with bright lights and holographic monitors of his breath, heart rate, and body temperature. He was alive. And, judging by how awful he felt, any remnants of the heart-shaped herb’s strengthening properties had been flushed out of his system. He bent his knees, flexed his arms. No restraints? No cuffs? There wasn’t even an intravenous tube in his arm.

He looked around. The room he resided in was surrounded by glass walls. It seemed to be an observation room as outside the transparent barriers was what appeared to be Shuri’s lab. He wondered if someone was watching him in that very moment. It seemed unusual that they would leave him alone and unbound. After all, he had proved himself to be deadly.

Taking a deep, steeling breath, he swung his legs over the bed and attempted to stand.

_ Big mistake. _

His legs betrayed him as he tumbled to the metal floor. He winced as his shoulder collided with the ground. He was suddenly very aware of the wound in his side. As his mind registered the pain, his stomach churned. Obviously, pain medication was a privilege he had not been afforded much of. He clenched his jaw. He had felt worse than this over a dozen times before.

The sound of a throat clearing, swept away the fog. He looked up, wincing, and met T’Challa’s cautious gaze.

“Taking a walk?” he asked lightly.

“Obviously not,” N’Jadaka rasped. His throat felt as if it was coated in dust and sand. He hardly recognized the sound of his voice. “What’s wrong with my legs?”

“I believe it is the remnants of your regional anesthesia,” T’Challa answered, offering his arm in support. “Similar to the epidural used in Western medicine. Shuri may have been a bit...generous with it.”

N’Jadaka scoffed. As he fought to rise to his feet, the sound came out as a groan.

“She should have just took me out. I’m sure she wanted to.”

T’Challa said nothing. It would do no good to confirm or deny. Instead, he helped N’Jadaka to sit on the bed. He offered him a glass of water, which was eagerly accepted.

“Cousin, I wish to--.”

T’Challa was interrupted as Okoye and two additional Dora Milaje approached the small room.

“My king, we do not mean to interfere,” the general said.

“Enter, Okoye.”

Okoye and the other officers approached. She eyed N’Jadaka for a brief moment.

“Prince N’Jadaka’s quarters have been prepared, my king.”

At this, N’Jadaka raised a brow.

_ Quarters? Is that what they call prison around here? _

  
  
  


The room he was eventually led to was certainly no prison, though its door could only be opened with biometrics. It rather resembled a modest studio apartment with a low ceiling and wood floors. The space was fully furnished with a spacious bed, small dining area, and reading space littered with books and tropical plants. The focal point, however, was the wall of ceiling-high windows with a view of the Golden City. He would have full view of a Wakandan sunset.

“You will find nearly all the amenities you will require. The bathroom has a shower, and tub should you require it. There is a variety of bathing and grooming products as well. The armoire there contains a few garments, both casual and formal. The bookshelves carry volumes by both African and, as you call yourselves, “African-American” authors. There is a collection of fiction and non-fiction. In the chest in the living area, you will find a small selection of exercise equipment, weights and things of that sort.

“Three daily meals will be brought to you. Your continuing medical care will be carried out here, as your remaining wounds are no longer life-threatening,” T’Challa said.

“Who’s gon’ be doin’ that?” 

“That has yet to be decided,” came T’Challa’s reply.

N’Jadaka smirked.

“Right. Ain’t no cameras in here?” He knew better than that. They wouldn’t let him off this easy. Not after what he’d almost gotten away with. 

“The audio and video of this room are accessible by way of kimoyo bead. Only myself and Okoye are privy to this manner of your supervision. Observation will only be conducted should concerns of your well-being arise,” said T’Challa.

N’Jadaka nodded with a skeptical squint. T’Challa always had the diplomatic answer. He couldn’t just tell it to him straight. This official little explanation he was trying to sell him? He didn’t buy it.

“For now, rest. Take a look around. You will be attended to before sundown.”

  
  
  


T’Challa sat behind his desk, thumb and forefinger stroking his chin in thought. Before him was a full list of Wakandan medics and healers. He mulled over the names. There was not one he felt deserved to be subjected to N’Jadaka’s care, no matter what form of compensation was offered.

_ Leave it to Shuri to make things difficult _ , he thought to himself. 

Okoye stood silently beside the king for a while, unsure if her solution would be to his liking. It seemed, however, that T’Challa still had no idea who would be relegated the most difficult task in the kingdom. In the end, she resolved to speak up. Holding her tongue would not serve anyone today.

“My king, I may have a remedy for this situation,” she said.

T’Challa looked up, relief already clear on his features. He gestured to the chair in front of his desk.

“Please, Okoye. Anything you have would be appreciated. This is quite the conundrum.”

Okoye sat, spear still in hand.

“As you know, three Dora Milaje have been initiated since N’Jadaka was overthrown,” she began.

T’Challa nodded. After the events of late, many of Wakanda’s military factions had increased in numbers, the Dora included. Due to their proximity to the royal family, Dora training and initiation was a matter in which the king was regularly informed.

“Yes. One from the Border Tribe and two from the River Tribe, if I am not mistaken,” T’Challa said.

“That is correct, my king. The youngest of the initiates--she is of the River Tribe. She is the granddaughter of Nne Ndidi,” said Okoye.

T’Challa’s brow raised in surprise.

“The Royal Healer and midwife?” he asked.

“The very one.”

T’Challa smiled wistfully.

“She has caught every royal baby for the last five or so decades. Including myself. I did not know that her family trained in combat. Her lineage is entirely healers and handlayers, I thought?”

Okoye nodded. The River Tribe was known for its large population of herbal medicine workers. Centuries-old remedies with complex recipes and instructions were guarded by many families of that ethnic group. It was nearly unheard of that members of such families pursue anything other than that trade.

Much of that had changed since N’Jadaka’s arrival.

“Her granddaughter is a bit of a rebellious type. She has been taught in herbal medicine since she was a child, of course. She has been working alongside her grandmother for years now. She took up combat only recently, but she is a natural. She commands the spear just as well as she brews a tonic,” Okoye said.

“And you believe she is the right fit for N’Jadaka’s care? Is she not too young, too naive?” T’Challa questioned.

“I believe her knowledge outweighs her youth. As for naivete, she would not have been initiated if I doubted her powers of discernment.” She paused. “The person best equipped to care for Prince N’Jadaka is the princess but we both know that that ship has sailed, Kumkani.”

T’Challa paused, fiddling with the cuff of his tunic.

“I will consider your recommendation. Give me some time to look over the other candidates. I must be sure that I make an informed decision. Who knows when N’Jadaka will be ready to rejoin society.”

_ If ever _ , he thought to himself. 

  
  
  


N’Jadaka lay on the sofa, staring up at the ceiling. The pain in his side throbbed only dully as long as he was still. The stitches holding the wound closed made his skin itch. That was probably intentional. He took deep, steadying breaths to keep from scratching. As much as he wanted to test out the comfort of the mattress, he was afraid his body would betray him and fall into sleep. He needed to be alert. If he could, he would never sleep. 

These last few months, he’d been running on little more than adrenaline and caffeine. To have those out of his system left him lethargic. Still, he resigned himself to stay up just long enough to meet whoever would be in charge of his meals and medical care. Shuri was out of the question. There was likely a team of healers who tended to only the royal family. He doubted they would tend to him given his status as a traitor. And with a history like his...they would likely prefer someone with some knowledge of self-defense. He doubted such a person existed. In Wakanda, at least.

He sighed. For now, he would have to make himself content counting the lines in the ceiling. He was too exhausted to explore and there was no way he would let himself sleep. He wished the day would end sooner. The thought of sitting and waiting for some stranger to come poke and prod didn’t sit well with him. In his last waking memories, he had been in total control. Everything, everyone was under his command. And now...he was locked in a glorified prison cell, too bruised and battered to walk across the room.

  
  
  


Okoye entered the king’s study, feet heavy to determination and a healthy bit of stubbornness. All afternoon, T’Challa had been waffling over the decision of N’Jadaka’s care. In a fit of irrational indecision, he had demanded medical training so that he could look after his cousin himself.

Okoye strode up to T’Challa’s desk. He sat poring over the list of names. She folded her arms and fixed him with a neither-of-us-has-time-for-this stare. When he spotted her, he sat back and sighed.

“Give me another hour, Okoye. I will have my decision in an hour,” T’Challa said.

“Absolutely not. I will not leave this spot until you have decided who will take up the task,” Okoye clipped.

“I cannot concentrate with you glaring at me so. I need to think.”

“You need to decide, my king,” Okoye said, more gently.

“I have made my decision. I just am unsure if it is the right one,” T’Challa groaned.

“If you did what you believe is right, then it cannot be a mistake,” she advised.

T’Challa chuckled. The familiar words bringing a little mirth to the situation.

“You sound like my mother,” he said, wagging his finger at the general.

“I will take that as a compliment,” she said with a grin. “Now, what is your decision?”


	2. an honor and a privilege

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reader gets some unfortunate news

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i definitely finished this when i was supposed to be finishing chapter 12 of R&R. i sorry. but this one is soo much easier to write. will update R&R soon tho! It's gonna be a long chapter
> 
> in the meantime, try this one!

The heat of the afternoon sun was steady on your back. You were still unaccustomed to the feeling on your scalp. Sweat seemed to pour down from the top of your head to the slope of your back. But, no matter the heat, you had to focus. Moving with the grace of Bast, you lunged and whirled your weapon. The momentum kicking up dust around you. You repeated the movement. This time, throwing your weight into a spinning kick and landed deftly on your feet.

“Again!” shouted Ayo. 

Since your initiation as a Dora Milaje, training had been intense and relentless. This morning had been all about flexibility and withstanding impact. You and your co-initiates spent the early hours bending and twisting until your joints protested. This afternoon brought endurance, how to maintain one’s strength and power in the most debilitating environments. Fires had been lit around the boundaries of the training ground to increase the heat. Tonight would entail stealth and tracking with only celestial light as a guide. 

“At ease!” Ayo said. 

Chest heaving and and muscles taut, you stood tall, eager for the shower and downtime you knew was only moments away. After directed, you cleaned and put away your practice weapons. You bathed and headed to the room you shared with your co-initiates. As much as you wanted to lounge around in your towel, you had studying to do. You were headed to your assigned study room when Okoye stepped into your path.

You crossed your arms in salute.

“Y/N, you did very well in your training today. You are a fast learner,” Okoye said.

Your face warmed. Your gaze fell to the floor. You hadn’t expected to see Okoye there and now she was complimenting you.

“Thank you, General.”

“I am aware that you may want to study before your evening training. But I have something that I would like to discuss with you. Please follow me,” Okoye said.

Her tone and hard gaze left you with a sinking feeling.

Okoye led you into the combat library. It was there that you did your research on various methods of self-defense, incapacitating an opponent, and weapon styles. The room was empty, as the others were likely in the study. Where you wanted to be. Usually a place of comfort with its tall shelves and darkly curtained windows, the room felt suffocating. The thousands of volumes with their worn spines and finger-worn pages seemed to leer at you from their height.

“I do not have grave news to share with you. However, it may not be to your liking. The king will discuss this matter with you before sundown. I am here to tell you the news first. We both know that you are still working on your...stoicism,” she said.

Your face continued to grow hot. Some aspects of your training, combat and diplomacy, were easy for you to pick up. Keeping a straight face? Not so much. You had been trained to be neutral, intent, and focused. The last thing you wanted to do was embarrass yourself in front of the king you were meant to protect with your life.

“Please, sit,” from Okoye.

Sitting for news. Your stomach sank to the floor. 

“As you are aware, Prince N’Jadaka will remain in Wakanda indefinitely. He is currently in custody and in need of daily medical attention. He also needs care in the way of daily meals,” Okoye said. “Do you follow?”

“Yes, General.”

“Princess Shuri was overseeing his care and has stepped down from that role. The king has chosen the next person taking on that responsibility,” Okoye continued.

_ Where is this going? _ , you thought to yourself. You had hoped to read up on arrowheads and bowstrings before training. Okoye was beating around the bush.

“He has chosen someone well-versed in both medicine and combat. Someone who will show N’Jadaka compassion but not cowardice,” Okoye said.

“That is wonderful, General. I am sure that the king has made the right decision, as he always does. But what does this have to do with my training?” you asked.

“He has chosen you, Y/N,” Okoye revealed.

Training forgotten, your brows rose and your eyes widened. The surprise and horror on your face could not have been more evident. King T’Challa had appointed you the least desired task in the kingdom. You would rather go out into the plains and shovel rhinoceros dung.

“Surely, this is a joke. A test of my ability to deal with change. I have failed. So, please...tell me that you are kidding,” you pleaded.

Okoye shook her head. 

“Forget about studying and training for the rest of the day, Y/N. The king will summon you within the hour.”

And with that, Okoye turned on her heel and disappeared down the hallway. You were left with just your thoughts. You scampered back to your room, shutting the door behind you. A moment was needed to clear your head, to focus, to process what you’d been told. The king expected you to care for the traitor. The man who had nearly destroyed centuries of advancement and history for some unresolved grudge against the departed king. A ruthless, cold man who had murdered anyone who stood in his way. 

You had joined the Dora Milaje after Prince N’Jadaka’s attempted coup. For the first time in your life, everything that you knew was in peril. It had only seemed logical that you dedicate your life to protect what was dearest to you. And now you had been chosen to look after the man who had endangered it all in the first place. Surely, this was not the path Bast had for you.

A knock at the door disturbed your thoughts. Though you didn’t answer, your two co-initiates Hana and Nkechi, walked right in. 

“Okoye told us to summon you,” Nkechi said.

“You’re in trouble, aren’t you?” Hana teased.

The three of you walked toward the throne room in silence. As one of the Dora Milaje, your place in the kingdom very firmly established. You studied. You trained. And, when your skills had been honed, you would defend. If you tried to tell your new sisters of what Okoye had revealed, they would have never believed you. So, you steeled your features and walked head-on into what you still hoped was an elaborate prank.

Entering the spacious room, you all found King T’Challa seated on his throne. An outsider would have found the sight menacing. The tall throne curved sharply around the king’s form. His attire, of charcoal and silver, gave him an air of intensity that would be intimidating to most. He looked like he’d been expecting you. Shuri and one of her lab assistants stood to his right. Okoye and Ayo flanked him.

You crossed your arms in salutation.

_ Wakanda forever. _

“Hana, Nkechi...you are dismissed to your studies,” T’Challa said after returning your greetings.

“We will also be taking our leave,” Shuri said, looking penitent. Or perhaps you imagined. Her eyes did not meet yours. Instead, she looked down with a nervous smile on her face. She wrung her hands as she swiftly took her leave. What could the princess have to be sorry for?

Naturally, that only heightened your anxiety. It was possible, though, that Princess Shuri was truly apologetic. Apologetic that her brother was about to play a cruel prank on you. That theory, as comforting as it was to you, was laughably unlikely. Okoye had probably been telling you the truth. And King T’Challa was probably on the brink of confirming your worst fear. 

Probably, probably,  _ definitely. _

“Y/N,” the king began with warmth, “I have been very impressed with your prowess in training. You are a fast learner. Patient. Quick-thinking. We are fortunate to have you as a Dora.”

“Thank you, my king,” you said with humble bow of the head. “It is an honor to be associated with such as daring as those that have come before myself.”

“As a nation, we have a responsibility to care for one another. To improve ourselves so that we can improve the lives of others. As I am sure you know, there are many ways to do this. Some do so by diplomacy and governance. Some, with their knowledge of the spiritual. And others, by their gifts of medicine.” He paused, taking a moment to squint his eyes as he considered you.    
“I am sure that you are wondering why you are here instead of poring over your books.”

“I am curious, my king,” you admitted. Still holding onto the hope that things were not as Okoye had said.

“Just as I am certain that you are aware that Prince N’Jadaka remains in the kingdom under royal supervision,” he added.

You nodded. Everyone knew that. His presence had nearly brought the nation to the brink. And when the king had allowed him to live? That had caused quite a stir. Never before had a Wakandan king been so questioned. When the ascended King T’Chaka was killed, the kingdom had stood behind T’Challa in support. Never blaming. Never questioning. Now, the topic of the king’s next moves were always in question. Gossip whispered in the city and the surrounding villages that T’Challa had let a traitor, an outsider, commit treason and  _ live _ .

“Yes, my king, that I know.”

T’Challa shifted in his throne. He looked as if he were choosing his next words with great care.

“He requires a regular caregiver. Someone well-versed in healing, but with the fortitude to protect themself against his possible unruliness,” he said.

Your heart began to race. Heavy dread made its home in your stomach.

“I have appointed you to provide that care. There is no one who I believe is more capable.” The king cracked a smile. “This is a great responsibility and incredible privilege.”

_ Privilege? _

“What do you say, Y/N?” He asked as if you really had a choice.

Your eyes tarried, just a moment, to Okoye. She gave a subtle nod, weighty with its implications. There was no choice. The king had made his decision.

“I accept, my king.” You inhaled shakily. “It would be an honor to care for the prince.”

King T’Challa smiled. A look of...relief? Relief or contentment colored his features. You were not sure. You weren’t sure of much in that moment. Would you leave the dormitory? Would you discontinue your training? Give up your studies? How long would this last? You were not afraid of Prince N’Jadaka. Your combat training had more than prepared you for disarming a hostile, traitorous opponent. Would he try to hurt you? Would he try to escape? Would--

Okoye cleared her throat. Your eyes accessed the room. Someone had said something to you. They were all looking at you expectantly. You opened your mouth to speak, but the king saved you the trouble.

“I understand that this may be a bit overwhelming, especially for a new initiate. Please go and gather what you need in the way of medical care. Okoye will collect you shortly,” T’Challa said in dismissal.

  
  


Your steps were silent down the hall. It was a habit now, the effort to move quickly and quietly. Whether in the palace or on the battlefield, stealth was paramount. You wished you had been trained to be invisible so you could avoid the endeavor that now loomed over you. The uncertainty of it all weighed heavy on your chest.

You reached the palace apothecary. You pushed open the heavy wooden and was met with the pungent smell of herbs and mixtures. The attendant had been expecting you too. For she stood at the very front and greeted you.

“I have arranged a few treatments that will be of use to you. Please look around for any more that will also suit well,” she said kindly.

You examined the medicines that she had laid out: comfrey salve and a thick, amber oil filled with calendula flowers. Both would aid in the healing of open wounds. Now, you just needed something to pack the wounds and prevent infection. Your eyes traveled over the wooden drawers, glass jars, and clay pots. Spotting what you required, you placed them all in a canvas bag the attendant laid out for you.

The walk back to the dormitory was a lonely one. Nothing but the jostle of pots and pouches in your bag accompanied you. You flopped into a chair. You clutched the bag of medicines to your chest tightly as you waited. Like a buoy, it was the only thing keeping you afloat during this suddenly stormy time. You reminded yourself that you should be grateful. To serve any member of the royal family was a privilege. But this? This was an “honor” that did not think anyone deserved.

A knock on the door disrupted your thoughts. Okoye stepped into the room. She noted the despondent look on your face and gave you a sad smile.

“I tried to prepare you,” she sighed.

A weak smile was almost all you could offer in reply.

“Thank you, General. I might have passed out otherwise,” you replied.

Okoye smiled at you then. Full and genuine.

“Come. It is time to prove yourself.”

  
  



	3. when vulnerability is a weapon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The prince's ego makes an appearance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: mentions of violence and wounds, angst

By the time you headed to the dormitory from Prince N’Jadaka’s chambers, the night had well fallen. You passed the dark, empty training grounds sullenly. You had missed the entire evening’s lesson. Your whole night wasted away with an arrogant prince. You thought back to his behavior. The way he had tried to wait you out. He was as stubborn as the princess. And his stare. Eyes tracing over you that way. It was worse than running drills with Ayo. It was as if the prince never blinked.

But, there had been something. The way he’d said your name. It was as if he was trying his best to get it right. And he had. It sounded...natural. Like he had lived here his entire life. During your visit with him, he hadn’t been entirely unpleasant, you thought.

_Perhaps, there is hope for him._

You shook your thoughts from your head. It was much too early to guess at the prince’s true character. He had fooled W’Kabi. He would not fool you. The only thing you needed to focus on this night was sleep.

The bedroom door swung open just as your feet reached the vestibule. And hand grabbed your arm and yanked you into the room.

“Come, come! Tell us everything!” Nkechi’s shrill voice met your ears.

Hana stretched out on her bed, watching the two of you with amusement.

“Bast, Nkechi! You scared me!” You huffed. “Can I eat first?”

“No,” she snickered. “You will eat while you tell us every single detail!”

“Fine,” you conceded. You set down your bag and toed off your shoes.

Hana and Nkechi followed you into your shared dining area. The smell of cumin and black pepper filled your nose. You hadn’t realized how hungry you were.

Nkechi hurriedly made you a plate. She waved her hands, beckoning you to quickly sit down.

“You know Nkechi cannot resist a good story, Y/N,” Hana said with a grin.

“Alright, alright!” You took a seat. “What do you want to know? Wait--how do you all know where I was?”

“Okoye. She knew we were worried about you,” Hana replied.

“Now, I have some questions for you to answer,” came Nkechi’s eager voice.

You waited for the onslaught to begin, but did not hesitate to dig into your plate.

“Is he tall?” she asked.

You choked on your rice.

“I was alone with a murderer and the first thing you ask is how tall he is? I am glad you care for me so.” You couldn’t help but roll your eyes.

“I do not see a scratch on you. Now, answer my question!” She took a seat at the table with you. Hana followed suit.

“He is tall. More than a head taller than me,” you answered simply.

“Are his eyes black as they say?”

You thought for a moment. You had avoided his gaze as best you could. His eyes always seemed to follow you.

“I can’t recall,” you answered truthfully.

A sigh. That wasn’t the right answer. Nkechi wanted gossip, sensation, scandal. Even as you busied yourself with your meal, she continued her stream of questions. You answered around your food. Eventually, she was satisfied. Your two co-initiates left you to eat in peace.

You slept poorly that night. While your friends slumbered soundly, bodies tired from a day of exertion, you tossed and turned with nothing but your thoughts to keep you company. You wondered at how you ended up in such a predicament. You were grateful that you came from a lineage of healers and medicine-workers, but it didn’t seem to be helping you much as of late. Prince N’Jadaka’s short reign of terror had been the very reason you had taken up the sacred duty as Dora Milaje. And now, you missed your training and your education to heal wounds that he had caused with his own ego. A sigh escaped your lips. Maybe the princess would change her mind. Then, you could go about your life and never see the prince again.

The three of you awoke before dawn. You guessed you had likely fallen asleep just a short time before. But, one did not keep Ayo waiting. After bathing and dressing, Hana, Nkechi, and you walked to the training grounds for drills. The dew of the morning skittered along your feet and legs. The slippery ground would prove challenging for this day’s agility training.

Ayo stood at the end of the field, looking as well-rested and you wished you felt. Flanking her were other members of the legion. She grinned, lupine with mischief. There was something up her sleeve. After greeting the three of you, she spoke.

“Today, we will be doing something a little different. As you know, Wakanda is globalizing. We have opened our doors and our minds to new ideas, new ways of thinking. That has led us to new ways of training,” she paused, her excitement growing. “In the United States, there is a game called flag football. Ladies, please demonstrate this game.”

You watched at the dozen or so Dora Milaje stood in rows facing each other, crouching low. An order was barked out. Players scattered. A ball was thrown. The one who caught it began to run; everyone on the field gave chase.

Ayo’s motive became clear: the sodden field would prove quite a challenge to run on. Someone slipped and nearly fell. Another dodged a teammate, but tripped over one other.

Another gained on the catcher. Rather than stealing the ball, she snatched a strip of bright blue fabric from the other’s waist. A cheer rang out from those wearing yellow flags at their waists.

Oh, this will be interesting.

Ayo looked to the three of you with a twinkle in her eyes. She handed you your flags. Hana would be on the yellow team with you. Nkechi, blue.

“I hope you are ready to lose, Y/N,” Nkechi taunted playfully.

“I hope you are ready to eat your words, Nkechi,” you retorted.

Again, a ball was thrown. Mud flew as bodies scattered and collided. Yelps and groans filled the air as players slipped and fell on the dew-soaked ground. Someone called your name. You looked up to see the ball spiraling toward you. You caught it and ran, twisting and dipping to keep your precious flag secure. You sprinted toward the end of the field, chest heaving.

“Touchdown!” Ayo hollered.

You grinned. Nkechi stuck out her tongue at you.

“Beginner’s luck,” she said.

The game continued until a sliver of sunlight began to creep over the horizon. You were exhausted after scoring two more “touch downs”, as Ayo called them. Your thighs burned, calves tight. You knew a hot shower and filling breakfast awaited you.

Okoye stepped onto the field as equipment was being put away. She surveyed her recruits with a pleased expression after crossing her arms in salute.

“Everyone! Well done. I see the slippery ground was hardly a challenge for you all. You may return to your respective dormitories for bathing and your morning meals,” she said.

You sighed with relief. Maybe today would be the return to normalcy. Okoye had not mentioned the prince.

The sound of the general calling your name interrupted your optimism.

“I have been informed that you have done very well with your training today.”

“Thank you, General,” you said, bowing your head.

“I have also heard that your initial meeting with the prince did not fair poorly,” she continued. “He received you well?”

“Yes, General. I was able to complete my duties without duress.”

Okoye nodded.

“Very good. When you have eaten and cleaned up, please return to Prince N’Jadaka’s chambers to deliver his morning meal. See to his wounds as you know best.”

Your heart sank. Of course, you wouldn’t get off that easy. You nearly wondered if this privileged assignment was somehow a part of your training. A test of patience and resolve. Neither the king nor the general had told you just how long you would be serving the prince. What would happen once he was fully healed?

You pressed your palm to the lock outside of Prince N’Jadaka’s chambers. Your arms were lighter today as the prince’s wounds would likely need less attention. You locked the door quickly behind you, just in case.

You entered the room carefully, making sure to set your things down quickly. Your gaze scanned the room for the prince. The bed was empty, made up neatly with tucked corners. The sofa was bare, throw pillow arranged along the cushions. The table was clear, except for the meal and medicines you had just placed there. He was nowhere in sight.

_Not good._

You stood for a moment and listened. You remembered your training: assess the field before making a move. After a beat, you heard the gentle tap of glass on a hard surface. Water running from a faucet. He was in the bathroom. A sigh of relief passed your lips. You dreaded the panic that would have arisen had a royal search party been dispatched.

Prince N’Jadaka turned the corner into the room. He stopped, muscles tense at the sight of an intruder. His gaze relaxed once he recognized you.

“My Prince,” you greeted, saluting him as customary.

He was shirtless again. This linen trousers hung low on his hips. His feet clad in woven slippers. He threw you a devilish grin.

“Back again, huh? You ain’t sick of me yet?”

It took too much restraint to keep from telling him how you really felt.

“It is a privilege to serve you, My Prince.”

He snorted in reply. He crossed to the table and sat before the morning’s meal of akara and pap.

“You don’t have to lie to me,” he said simply, hastily digging into his meal. He still ate like a man starved.

You flinched. It was in your oath as a Dora Milaje to speak only truth, except in grave times.

The insult must have read on your face because the prince pursued the issue further.

“What? You can’t lie? Your nose grow like Pinocchio or som’?”

This time, you let the confusion read on your face.

“What is a pin--pinokeo?”

The prince stopped mid-bite to look at you in similar perplexity.

“You know, the little puppet that wants to be a real boy? His nose grows every time he lies,” he explained.

You shook your head. You had heard plenty of folktales growing up, but never one of a puppet with a growing nose.

“Interesting,” was all he said. The rest of the meal was finished in silence. You simply stood and waiting, your mind conjuring up images of a puppet telling lies.  
The prince cleaned his plate less hurried after your brief conversation. He seemed thoughtful. For a moment, stared at the wood grain of the table and said nothing.

“My Prince, if you are sated, I will tend to your wounds. I must see that they are healing appropriately.”

The morning stretched on uneventfully. Shuri’s sealant proved effective treatment for the wound in the prince’s side. You covered the cut on his thigh with the same material, hoping to expedite its healing. In the brightness of the day’s sunlight, you noticed a cut that you hadn’t seen yesterday. It lay just below his collarbone. Had you missed it, perhaps? No. You had been meticulous in your care the day before. Even examining the prince’s hands and feet.

The cut was less than an inch long and jagged around the edges. It was fresh; but the blood was dry. It looked less than a day old. The surrounding skin was red and swollen. It looked eerily similar to the raised scars that littered the rest of N’Jadaka’s torso and arms. Your stomach twisted.

Prince N’Jadaka followed your gaze. He watched your face with dark eyes. They were not black, as some said. They were dark brown and boring into you intensely. Your breathing shallowed as you weighed your next words carefully. If the prince had made the cut himself, then he had found something sharp here in his chambers. Something that could still be within arm's reach.

“You have hurt yourself, Your Highness,” you said steadily, brows upturned in feigned concern.

“Don’t play dumb,” he rumbled. “We’re both smarter than that.”

You bit the side of your tongue and swallowed the retort that bubbled in your throat. You inhaled slowly to keep your fury at bay. After all the terror and destruction that the prince had caused, after being unjustly spared by his family, after failing the mission that he had risked his very life for, he still felt the need to memorialize one if his casualties. It was likely that of one of your sisters, a fellow Dora, who he had killed at the Great Mound Battle. And, just like that, she had been reduced to a gash of open skin on a traitor’s chest. It made your blood boil.

“Why did you do it,” you whispered. It was not your place to ask. One did not question a member of the royal family.

_Propriety be damned._

His eyes traveled to the bookcase against the wall. You followed his gaze to the furniture leg. Squinting, you spotting a sliver of the wood was cracked and subtly bloodstained. It looked like a piece had been broken off, then pushed back together.

_Has he lost his mind?_

“ _Why_ ,” you repeated through gritted teeth.

His thumb ran across the scarred tissue on his forearm. He turned and flexed the limb in the warm morning light.

“You know what they called me while I was in the military?” His aura shifted. When you had first entered his quarters, he had seemed apprehensive but more or less at ease. Humor had easily slid between his words to you. Flirtation, even. But, suddenly, the man before you seemed more like the monster that others had alleged him be. His jaw tightened. His chin angled up as if he was looking down at you. His hands clenched into fists as they rested on his thighs.

Lips pressed tightly, you regarded him with sudden weariness. You had nothing to say to him.

“ _Killmonger_ ,” he answered for you.

A word that didn’t exist before. But one coined just for him. For a moment, your training didn’t seem so important.

“Is that what _this_ ,” you gestured to his bare torso, “means to you? Some disgraceful title given to you by the ‘colonizers’ you loathe so much? Is this how you measure your worth? Reducing people’s very lives to marks on your skin?Bastardizing the sacred traditions to feed your bloated, distorted ego?”

Your entire body felt hot. Your heart pounded so hard, you could feel it in your teeth. You had lost your temper, forgotten your training. You were better than this. Better than speaking out of turn, insulting the sanctity of the crown, losing control of yourself.

“This is who I am,” he growled.

“Is that all you will ever become?” you challenged aloud.

“Maybe it’s who I’m meant to be,” he retorted. He was reading you again. His eyes were trained on your face.

At that, however, your training returned to you. You could practically hear Okoye’s voice in your ear: “To offer your foe your weakness is to hand them your weapon”. You would never hand him your weapon. You settled your face into the mask of a warrior: neutral.

Without another word or glance his way, you gathered your things. You methodically filled your satchel with dishes and herbal medicines.

“Good day, My Prince,” you bid with a salute. Turning on your heel, you departed from him without a second glance.


	4. off-script

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the aftermath of your outburst

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings: angst, mentions of blood and violence

You dipped into a quiet hallway and slid to sit on the ground. You tightly clutched your bag to your chest, wringing the fabric in your hands. With a quaking breath, the tears came. Searing and endless, they trailed down your cheeks. You sobbed silently. 

_ I am better than this. _

Granddaughter of an esteemed member of the community. Descendant of a strong and wise lineage. Handlayer and Dora Milaje. You were all of those things, but you felt like none of them. You felt like a little girl in over her head. For the first time in your life, it seemed like the path you had taken was the wrong one. How would you come back from this? The loss of temper, the loss of self-restraint. It sat heavy on your chest, in your stomach. 

You stood with a sigh, brushing the tears away with back of hand. One couldn’t just sit in the hallway all day. You slunk back to your dormitory with your head down, too embarrassed to be seen.

The General must have sensed something was amiss, for she stood waiting in the dormitory common room. Concern written on her features. 

During your walk back, your tears had dried. Your breath had steadied. The brown of your complexion had returned. However, once your gaze met Okoye’s, your resolve crumbled.

“General, I--,” you choked. 

Before you could get another word out, Okoye wrapped you in warm embrace. Her palm rested on your head as she shushed you. 

“Speak only when you are ready,” she murmured, squeezing you tight.

Eventually, your breathing evened out. You swallowed the last of your tears and spoke.

“I have failed you, General. I have failed both you and the throne.”

Okoye released you at arm’s length. She looked at you carefully.

“As long as you do your best, you can never fail. Now tell me what happened. Sit.” She ushered you to a chair and sat in another close to it. 

“I lost my temper,” you breathed. “I spoke out of turn. I insulted the prince. I--I  _ failed _ .”

Okoye did not scold you. She did not yell or chastise. Rather, she looked at you with a soft smile.

“Did you provide for him his meal?” she asked.

Your brow furrowed.

“Yes, of course,” you replied.

“Did you care for his injuries?”

“Yes, thoroughly,” you answered, very much confused.

“Then, you have not failed. As Dora Milaje we are trained in ethics, etiquette, restraint, respect for the royal family, love of country. But we are human. We think and feel just as everyone does. I am not surprised that Prince N’Jadaka tested your resolve. I am not disappointed either,” Okoye said.

“Truly,” you asked, incredulous.

“Truly,” she confirmed. “Let me share something that may assure you. King T’Challa paid a visit to the prince last night, after you left. The prince did not say much, but he made it very clear that he would not tolerate anyone caring for him. Except, you.”

That gave you pause. Of course, he had said this  _ before _ you insulted him but still...perhaps, he would forgive you. You would have to apologize, first. You weren’t sorry for your feelings, just that you had said them the way you had.

“Do not be so hard on yourself. You have a gift with both medicine and combat. Such a thing is rare. It seems you also have the rare gift of getting through to Prince N’Jadaka. I know that this task the king has saddled you with is a difficult one. But it is because there is no one in the kingdom more capable that this ordeal was thrust upon you. Continue to be the adroit healer-warrior that you are and all will be well.” Okoye gifted you with not only kind words, but an even kinder smile.

You sniffed one final time. Your chest felt lighter; your shoulders relaxed. Your face was still flush with a bit of embarrassment, but you would manage. 

“Thank you, General,” you said, voice just a bit hoarse.

Okoye rose to stand, and you with her. She gave your shoulder a reassuring squeeze.

“All will be well,” she repeated and left you to your thoughts. 

The rest of the morning was spent in training. Flexibility this time. Ayo went through drills with the newest initiates, yourself included. After your muscles and ligaments were warmed up, you went through repetitions of leaps, lunges, and rolls. Each one essential for evading and engaging an opponent. 

Flexibility proved to be an avenue in which you needed a bit of improvement. Hana moved lithely. She leapt with more grace than a gazelle. You smothered a laugh when you spotted Nkechi, though. Her leaps were a bit more warthog-like.

By the time the sun reached the top of the sky, you had popped and cracked joints you didn’t know existed. Despite the exertion, your body felt warm and awake. The warmth of the sun combined with the sweet afternoon breeze was enough to calm your nerves before your assignment.

  
  


As you stood outside the prince’s chambers, your nerves returned. The memories of the morning weighed down your feet as you paused at the door. If you had angered him, he might retaliate with violence. You could stand on your own in combat, but N’Jadaka would be an opponent like no other. A sigh rushed passed your lips. You could not put it off any longer. If you had to incapacitate him, then so be it.

You entered the room smoothly, securing the lock behind you. Prince N’Jadaka sat at the table waiting. His eyes met yours only for a moment. His chin was held high, but his gaze rested on the floor. 

_ Odd _ .

You greeted him in the proper manner. You hastily plated the prince’s midday meal and laid out your implements. An apology bubbled in your throat. You would hardly be able to focus on his care if you didn’t hurry up and spit it out.

“My Prince,” you began, “I apologize for my behavior this morning. There was no reason for me to speak out of turn, to be so brash. It will not happen again.”

More than a moment’s silence passed as N’Jadaka tore apart a piece of flatbread and chewed quietly. You stood and waited. Perhaps, he would ignore you all day. Perhaps, he was waiting to make the right move.

When he was finished, you cleared the dishes. You opened a jar of a new salve that you blended yourself. The prince’s behavior had inspired you to create a concoction that would heal physical wounds and calm the mind as well. You warmed the product between your palms as the prince watched you mutely. Steady hands worked into his muscles, careful to avoid the healing wounds. The newest addition would heal fine on its own, not that you wanted to treat it.

Your name passed the prince’s lips. You paused your movements, afraid you had hurt him.

“You good, ma.”

Your brow furrowed. What did he--.

“All that shit you said? I ‘on’t want no apology. It was the truth and you said it. No need to be sorry.”

_ Is this a trick? _ The prince had seemed furious when you had last seen him. Surely, he would not move on so quickly. His temper had garnered quite the reputation across the kingdom. And forgiveness? Unheard of.

“Your Highness, I--” you began.

“And you can forget that shit too. All those titles? I get that from everybody else. I’m good. If I call you by your name, then you can call me by mine,” he said firmly.

As much as you wanted to argue with him, you held your tongue. Instead, you inspected the sealant on his ribs.

You had been sure you had the prince all figured out. He had been wronged as a child, leaving him resentful to the culture he was borne from. He had been raised in a country built against him, leaving in skeptical of authority. He attended a well-regarded American university, proving he was highly intelligent. He joined the American military, where he channeled his rage. He attempted a coup in an effort to right the wrongs of the world and cement his place as the powerful, ingenius ruler he believed he was meant to be. Yet, here he was asking to be treated as a commoner. He was more of a conundrum than he appeared to be. 

_ What will he do next? _

“You do know my name, don’t you,” he pried.

“Of course, I do, My Pri--.” You stopped yourself. It would be a hard habit to break.

“Lemme hear it, then.” He smirked. Maybe he was a  _ bit  _ predictable.

“N’Jadaka,” you mumbled, not meeting his heavy gaze.

He cupped a hand behind his ear.

“I’m sorry, I ain’t quite catch that.”

“N’Jadaka,” you stated. Warmth spread across your cheeks. It felt too intimate to call him by his given name, no title. It was wrong.

_ Right? _

N’Jadaka sat back in his chair. He crossed his arms over his chest and spread his legs out wide. He looked smug. That only embarrassed you more. 

Even as you were flustered, your mind drifted back to your previous conversation with the prince. Your eyes trailed to the healing cut below his collarbone. Once again, his dark eyes followed yours. The grin drifted from his lips. The mood in the room shifted.

“Go on and ask. I know you want to.” He shrugged. 

You turned your back to him. You busied yourself with packing away medicines, screwing on lids, wrapping bowls. You shouldn’t let your curiosity get the best of you. Shouldn’t question a member of the royal family but--

“Her name was Tiwa.” He made the decision for you.

Tiwa was a Dora Milaje from the Golden City. She had been initiated alongside Ayo when you were just a girl. She was well-known for her strength and her loyalty. And for her infectious laugh. After she was killed at the Great Mound Battle and given a warrior’s burial, her spear was mounted in the throne room, as she had died for her country. She had devoted her life to protecting Wakanda and, in an instant, that life was ended by the very man sitting behind you.

You bit your lip to keep the tears from falling. Tiwa’s death had affected everyone deeply, but especially Okoye and Ayo. It was not uncommon to hear an anecdote about her mentioned during a lesson or training session. You should have known that it was N’Jadaka who had taken her life. She was too formidable in battle for anyone less. 

_ Bast, give me the strength to care for this man. Only you know how much I would rather kill him. _

You said nothing for fear that your emotions would, once again, get the best of you. You felt foolish for ever thinking that the prince could be rehabilitated. Of course, change took time. But you wondered whether it was possible for everyone. 

“You think you’re better than me, don’t you? ‘Cause of you only fight to protect...defend.”

His gaze was steady on you as you turned to face him. His eyes were dark as he watched you watching him. 

“I hold the royal family to the highest esteem,” you recited. It was a diplomatic response. And, obviously, not the one he wanted to hear.

“So, we’re back to the script, huh,” he scoffed. 

The palms of your hands ached from where your fingernails dug in. The heat of your temper rose across your chest and face. You willed your heart to calm from its galloping pace.

“What do you want from me, M--N’Jadaka?” Your shoulders slumped.

“I want your honesty,” he stated.

You nearly rolled your eyes. The two of you had been over this before. Honesty was a part of your vows.

“I am always honest, Your Hi--.” You bit your lip. 

N’Jadaka shook his head.

“Nah, I’m not talkin’ about lying. I know you took a vow or whatever. I mean these little scripted answers you have for everything. All that ‘it’s my honor to serve you’, ‘I hold the royal family to the highest esteem’ mess. You can keep that. I want you to be straight with me,” he explained.

You looked at him quizzically, allowing the warrior’s mask to fall away just a bit more.

_ Why? _ You thought to yourself.

N’Jadaka shrugged, as if reading your mind.

“I can’t get that from anybody else. Everyone else who comes in here wants something from me. They want answers, an observation,  _ somethin’ _ . You get in here and all you do is give. So, Imma be greedy and ask for more.” He leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. “Think you can do that?”

“I will do my best,” you replied with a nod, hoping you wouldn’t come to regret it.

N’Jadaka sat back, appearing satisfied.

“Bet.”

  
  



	5. no room

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> your purpose in life is clear. right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings: a cuss word or two, conflicted feelings

The afternoon was spent in the dormitory library. Yourself and your co-initiates pored over volumes of tales of war, weaponry, and biographies of Dora Milaje passed. Such subjects normally held your attention. Study was your favorite aspect of training. Naturally, combat and fitness were exciting. Ayo and Okoye had many creative ways of crafting even the greenest of initiates into a well-rounded warrior. Still, there was something alluring about the age-old tales held within the shelves of the library. The knowledge was seemingly endless. And with the nation now more receptive to outsiders, new information was readily available.

_ So, why can’t I focus? _

The letters of the Wakandan alphabet swam in your vision. The construction of the  macuahuitl was fascinating, even more so was the man that your king had ordered you to care for. His behavior was unlike any you had encountered before. He, at first glance, appeared so haughty and self-assured. Yet, his need for certain honesty, his off-putting transparency about himself and his past action. And all that he asked of you was the truth. Would he ask for more? Surely, he would...

As you stared at the glossy page in front of you, the trappings of your mind worked. You thought back to everything that Okoye had taught you all about how to measure up an opponent.

**‘They will exaggerate their strengths and target your weaknesses.’**

_ No, that does not seem right. _

**‘If they cannot best you with brute force, they will use their wit and vice-versa.’**

_ He has yet to lay a hand on me. And though he does challenge my ways of thinking, he has never attempted to best me with his smarts. _

**‘They will place themselves above you, so that you remain beneath them.’**

_ Certainly not. He insists I treat him as an equal. _

Your fingers reflexively turned the page in front of you. You had a facade to maintain.

While your eyes appeared focused on the image before you, your mind came to a conclusion. If N’Jadaka did not fit the role of an adversary, then perhaps he was not one. ‘Ally’ was much too presumptuous. But, if he did not wish you harm, then could there be potential for some sort of benefit? Daresay, a friendship? It could never be. Despite his crimes, he still held a title. And you, you had a duty to serve.

Your fingers turned to yet another page. N’Jadaka was a riddle that would not be solved in one day’s study. If he were a riddle at all. In your search to solve him, maybe you were missing what was right in front of you.

“Hello, I am right in front of you!” Nkechi’s voice disrupted your stream of consciousness.

You looked up with a start. The last time you’d looked at either of your friends, they had been nose-deep in their books as you had been. Nkechi now fixed you with a smirk.

“Who knew you had such a love for Central American weaponry?” Her tone was playful. The twinkle in her eye even more so.

Hana looked up from the thick volume before her.

“Leave her be, Nkechi. She is doing what you should be.  _ Studying _ ,” Hana said.

Nkechi met the reproach with a dramatic roll of her eyes.

“I cannot focus in a stuffy, windowless room! Whose idea was it to construct a library  _ below  _ ground?”

You chuckled. Okoye had told you all the story. You had heard it half a dozen times before; everyone knew it. Centuries ago, when the wonder of vibranium was first discovered and the tribes united, tribal knowledge was united as well. Leaders from every region, except from the Jabari mountains, brought forth tomes, tablets, and scrolls to form the Wakandan Library. It had been built underground to prevent damage from fire--natural or enemy. The girls sat in but a small branch of it, a section reserved for warriors and strategists. It was rarely visited by anyone else.

“Why don’t you go outside and read then? Since you are feeling so stifled here with us,” you offered cheekily.

Nkechi stuck out her tongue. She gathered a few books and headed towards the door.

“Try not to miss me too much,” she called as she left.

The calm and quiet resettled over the library as the number of occupants was reduced by its loudest one. You hoped that you could regain some sort of concentration. The hand-drawn diagrams before you held onto the strings of your mind for a moment. You studied the measurements of the blades before you. Heavy, iron-wrought things. You were privileged to train with vibranium, light and strong. Not the cumbersome heft of the weapons used on other continents. You wondered what sort of weapons Prince N’Jadaka was most accustomed to. You had heard that he was more than comfortable with two-handed blades and other traditional weapons. What had he used when he was living in America? You knew of the guns they used there. Had he carried his own?

“There is something on your mind,” Hana said gently, interrupting your thoughts.

“There is always something on my mind,” you evaded.

Hana closed the book in front of her. She turned and looked at you steadily. Though you did not want to admit it, Hana was always able to read you. She spoke little, but she observed much. It was a gift, truly. But it meant that she saw more of you than you intended to show.

“You can talk to me about it, you know,” she pressed gently.

You sighed. Hana was a good listener. Any secrets told to her stayed with her. Even still, you were unsure of how much you were willing to share.

“I am simply confused,” you admitted.

“Confusion is never simple. Go on,” she nudged.

“The prince confuses me,” you said, choosing your words carefully.

Hana nodded sagely. She gestured for you to say more.

“He is not what people have said he is. But I have a feeling that he is not what I think he is either,” you continued.

“And what is that exactly?”

You closed your own book and thought for a moment. 

“With all the talk, all the rumors...I thought he would be a bloodthirsty monster. Violent. Loud. Dangerous. When I finally met him, I thought that he was haughty, vain, and stubborn,” you answered. Tension was forming behind your eyes. You were thinking yourself to a headache.

“And now,” Hana asked.

“I have no idea,” you breathed.

Hana offered you a soft smile, one of no expectations or demands. She reached over and squeezed your hand.

“Perhaps, the prince is just as confused by you,” she said. Her tone was that of someone that knew more than they wished to say. You ignored it, afraid of what she might be thinking.

“There is nothing confusing about me,” you retorted. “I am a simple girl.”

Hana snorted, a sound you had never once heard her make before.

“What,” you asked, trying not to sound offended.

“There is nothing simple about you,” she tittered.

  
  


* * *

  
  


That evening, you stood staring at the door to the prince’s chambers. Slung on your back was your usual bag of oils and salves. In your arms, you carried a basket that held the prince’s meal--a dish rich in warm spices. The palm of your dominant hand tingled with nerves. One movement and you would be faced with the prince again. You hardly felt ready for it. Knots formed in your stomach. Your head swam. The uncertainty of his behavior made your heart race. 

_ How much longer can I do this? _ , you thought. 

_ As long as it takes _ was the only possible answer. You would face greater foes than the one behind this door. If he was truly a foe at all. But to find out, you would have to do more than stand there with leaden feet.

After a few deep breaths, you pressed your hand to the lock. You entered quickly, securing the door behind you. Unlike the afternoon before, the prince reclined on the couch in the book-adorned living room. Rather than the tunic and trousers from earlier in the day, he wore a set of knit pajamas. A blanket strewn across his lap. 

Upon hearing you enter, he sat up with a stretch. 

“You are looking well-rested,” you observed, choosing to forego the usual salute. He wanted to be treated as your equal. For now, you would oblige him.

“How’d I look before?” He smirked.

You got to work with your usual set up, placing his meal on the table before the medical supplies.

“Like you had not slept in three days,” you quipped, eyes trained on your work.

You cautioned a side-long glance at the prince, wary of what you might see. To your surprise, a grin adorned the prince’s face. A sight most unexpected. The smile revealed glints of gold on his canine teeth. On either side of his mouth, dimples dipped smoothly. The smile even reached his eyes, as the corners crinkled just so.

“Is that right,” he questioned with a chuckle.

You kept your face hidden, pretending to lay out utensils that already rested on the table. Your face and ears were warm; you hoped the prince wouldn’t notice the smile you bit back.

“I only say what is true,” you said with a shrug.

“I’m not mad at it,” he replied, hands up in mock surrender. He sat at the table, inspecting the meal there.

“It was the salve,” you said after a moment.

The prince looked at you quizzically, mouth full of rice.

“I made a new salve and tried it out this afternoon. I added lavender, valerian, and other herbs to relax the body and mind. Perhaps, it worked too well,” you said.

“You did that for me?”

“Yes, M--. Yes, I did,” you answered.

He studied you for a moment too long. Brown eyes narrowed, brow creased so slightly. It looked as if he was trying to read your face. Or your thoughts. Despite your better judgement, you held his gaze. You willed your heart to beat just a bit quieter. Tried to breathe just a bit slower. 

Apparently satisfied with whatever he saw in you, N’Jadaka nodded and turned his attention back to his meal.

“Thank you,” he said.

“Of course, Your H--N’Jadaka,” you stuttered. You shifted your weight back and forth on each foot. You felt something you hadn’t in months:  _ awkward. _

“You don’t have to just stand there. You can sit. Look around. Take a nap. It’s not like I can get myself out of here,” he paused. “And I hope you know I’m not gonna hurt you.”

_ He’s reading me again. Or testing me. Both, I’m sure.  _

You hesitated. Even worse, you  _ believed  _ him. If he meant you harm, he would have surely acted on it by now. Right? However, not once had you seen a threatening gesture. He hadn’t even said an unkind word. He probably didn’t even know about the thin blades hidden at your ankles. After making a mental list of every visible object that could be used as a weapon, you sat down at the table across from him. Your posture was not one of leisure. Your back was straight and tall; your hands rested in your lap, unclasped and ready. It felt foreign to be sitting while you were actively serving. Your joints seemed to protest as you forced them to remain in such a position.

It continued that way for some lingering moments. An odd pair seated opposite from one another. Not a word spoken, nary a glance shared.

That is, until N’Jadaka’s plate was clean.

“What did you mean? When you said ‘Is that all you will become’?”

You looked up at him, for a moment, confused before the memory returned to you.

A half-shrug.

“I meant what I said. I do not speak in riddles as the elders do. I speak plainly,” you said in reply.

N’Jadaka snorted,  a sound you had never once heard him make before.

_ This feels awfully familiar. _

“Ain’t nothin’  _ plain _ about you,” he chuckled softly. He considered you for a moment as his face gradually grew more serious. “Answer my question.”

The intensity of his dark gaze left little room for argument. The deep pools of brown bored into yours until you finally spoke.

“I only meant--,” you started. “I wonder if there are not  _ other  _ ambitions that you have for this life. If your ways are set, or if there are other dreams you wish to achieve. Ones that only help, not harm.”

N’Jadaka considered your words. He sat back with his arms folded behind his head. The ripples of his muscles and markings nearly lured your eyes from more appropriate places.

“Tell me about yours,” he said.

Your lips parted in surprise. 

“And remember, none of that scripted shit. I want you to be honest,” he pressed.

You sat and thought for a moment, hands fiddling with the pots and jars on the table. You really hadn’t thought about any goals or ambitions. You simply followed where your duty lead you. Coming from your lineage, herbalism was the first goal. Learning the land, its life. Growing up, there was never a question as to your future, it was already written. After Prince N’Jadaka’s return, you felt called to defend your homeland. But, everyone felt that way. To be of Wakanda was to love Wakanda. It was second nature.

“I have never considered it. As the granddaughter of  Nne Ndidi, I must carry on the practice of the Earth. As a Dora Milaje, I must defend the throne. There is no room for anything else,” you replied. 

You stood and began to prepare your implements. There was no need to dawdle. The prince rose along with you. He disrobed to his undergarments, as was your routine. You got to work examining his wounds. The deep gash in his side looked to be healing quite nicely. The sealant had allowed the skin to grow back pink and supple. There were no signs of infection. You moved to his back, applying the same soothing salve from before to his muscles.

“Is there room for love,” he asked quietly.

Your hands nearly froze in their spot.

“What?” It was all you could think to say.

“You heard me,” he hummed.

You clicked your tongue in amusement. If this situation had been different--in practically any way--you would have thought the prince was flirting with you. 

_ Impossible. _

“I love my country; you know that already. I love my clan, my people. I love the royal family and my service to it. For anything else, there truly is no room.”

You wrapped linen gauze around a few cuts, examined a few persistent contusions. He was healing well, but slowly. 

“So, y’all are like nuns, then. You take a vow of chastity?”

This time, it was you who snorted. 

_ Where does he get these ideas? _

“Is that an American thing? Such a practice does not exist here. The General has a spouse, as do many other Dora Milaje. There is no law against it,” you answered.

“So, you can date, get married, all o’ that?” He stepped into his pajama pants, wincing as he bent down.

“If I wish,” you said, eyeing his pained movements.

“Do you wish?” He asked as he buttoned up his shirt.

You shook your head in amusement as you began to pack up your things.

“I doubt there is anyone in the world who would desire me enough to share me with all that I owe myself to,” you replied. 

It wasn’t a sad thought. It was a simple fact of your existence. Romance? Marriage? You had a country to serve, a wounded prince to care for. To be distracted from that would be to fail. And that was a reality you refused to allow.

Said prince made a non-committal sound in reply. He seemed dissatisfied by your answer, but said nothing more.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hit a brick wall with this series, no lie  
> thank you so much to everyone who commented and gave kudos. it motivated me to continue this piece when i lacked inspiration


	6. a new task

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> King T'Challa has another assignment for Reader

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings: mild angst, fluff if you squint and tilt your head to the left

The routine continued for two weeks. In the morning, you trained with your co-initiates. Nearly every session had your muscles sore for the rest of the day. Over time, though, your body began to craft itself into that of a warrior. Your limbs were more flexible. Your reflexes became sharper. Your powers of perception and observation were faster than ever before. Most afternoons were spent in study. After Nkechi’s insistence, some of your time in the books was spent outside in the sun. The sweet breeze rustled the pages of your notes and books. The change of scenery allowed you to get out of your head. On the afternoons when you did not study, you learned how survival skills and weapon maintenance. On some noontime treks, Ayo led you to remote village areas to test such skills as fire starting and water purifying. On other occasions, Okoye instructed you on how to replace spear handles and bowstrings. In the evenings, you received night training. You learned tracking, stealth, and other skills. And when the day was finally done, you were permitted to rest. 

Your time with N’Jadaka continued as it had begun. The prince continued to demand your honesty. And, over time, it became less of a chore and struggle. The apprehension you felt at his door faded gradually. The awkwardness wore away as your conversations became more natural and light-hearted. He taught you American slang; you taught him bits of Wakandan history. A reluctant duty gave way to a delicate almost-friendship.

One morning, after you had brought the prince his breakfast, King T’Challa called you into the throne room. Okoye stood to the king’s right. She nodded to you as you entered and saluted those before you. King T’Challa sat on the dais, looking every bit of the leader he was. His face was bright; his brown eyes sparkled in the Wakandan sunlight. He was, no doubt, in high spirits after his betrothal to Nakia. Wedding preparations were already underway. Queen Mother Ramonda headed them while Shuri and members of the court assisted.

The king said your name with a smile.

“I hear that your patient is healing well,” he said with a nod.

“Yes, My King. Most of Prince N’Jadaka’s injuries are entirely healed. And his sleep has improved greatly.”

The king and his general shared a glance. Unspoken words seemed to pass between them.

“And you are faring well with this responsibility? I know that you were reluctant when I assigned you to his care,” T’Challa said. He watched you carefully, but not harshly. You wondered if it was a family trait.

“It is my honor to serve the royal family, My King,” you recited. N’Jadaka would never let you get away with an answer like that, but the king looked satisfied with your reply.

The king looked off in thought. He rubbed his chin between his fingers absentmindedly. The attention on you made your stomach flip. Despite the nerves, you stood tall and still. Your expression gave nothing away, as you had been trained.

“Do you believe that Prince N'Jadaka remains a threat? Based on your observations alone, not of the gossip that goes around,” the king asked.

You thought carefully of the time you had spent with the treasonous prince. You recalled the look of frustration that had creased his brow when he had tried to explain the term ‘shawty’ to you. You thought of the passion in his eyes when he spoke to you of the American man called Malcolm X. You remembered the amusement in his face when you told him of the one-armed white man herding goats in a mud hut on the hillside. In all those times, the prince had never presented as a threat. He never once spoke harshly to you, never laid a hand on you. As you continued your training, you were likely the more dangerous of the two of you.

“I do not believe that the prince is a threat to anyone, My King. Except, perhaps, himself,” you answered.

“Please do elaborate,” he said, leaning forward in interest.

“He has never expressed desire to continue the pursuits that brought him to Wakanda. But, he regularly expresses guilt for the actions he has committed here and in other parts of the world.” It felt like a betrayal to reveal such. You suspected that there was constant surveillance of the prince’s quarters. N’Jadaka likely suspected the same. But to speak of your conversations with the prince--it felt like the violation of an unspoken rule.

“Do you believe that Prince N’Jadaka is capable of contributing positively to society? Again, based solely on what you have seen from him,” the king continued.

You thought again to conversations passed. The prince had eventually revealed goals beyond his attempt to overthrow your homeland. He spoke of dreams of global change, international aid, and cultural exchange. He told you of his father’s work with Black Nationalists, a concept that intrigued you. He described all the ways that the world could be better for Black and Brown people. His ideas were limitless.

“I believe that the prince is capable of achieving great things, if permitted, My King,” you replied.

King T’Challa nodded. He seemed pleased by your words. 

“Then it is decided!” He clasped his hands and smiled.

Your face remained unreadable, but your stomach dropped. The last time the king had news for you, it hadn’t been anything you’d wanted to hear. Would he relieve you of your duties to the prince? Such a thought should have been a comfort; instead, it left you uneasy.

Okoye stepped forward.

“You have performed exceedingly well in your training. There is little doubt that you can hold your own against the most formidable of foes,” she began.

“Thank you, General.”

“The prince has been confined to his chambers for over two weeks now. For the sake of his health, he must be allowed time outdoors. One needs fresh air in order to thrive,” she continued. “Due to his crimes, however, he will be permitted to venture outside under close supervision in a secure location.”

_ I do not like where this is going.  _

“After consulting me regarding the requirements of your training, the king has come to a decision,” Okoye said.

T’Challa spoke again, “Rather than spending your study hours in that ancient library, I would like you to accompany N’Jadaka outside for a few hours. A courtyard has been designated for this purpose. We will provide sparring equipment, recreational items, and the like should he choose to use them. No guards will be present inside the perimeter, but the area will be surveilled with video and audio. Guards will be posted outside. If this goes well, I hope that N’Jadaka will be able to reside in the palace of his own free will. Without locks and cameras. Do you find this agreeable?”

Okoye looked at you expectantly. The king was asking not for permission, but out of courtesy. 

“It would be an honor and a privilege, My King,” you recited. You could see N’Jadaka’s eye roll in the back of your mind.

“Very good,” the king replied. “When are you able to start?”

“I am always prepared for what is required of me,” you said.

Okoye revealed the hint of a proud smile.

_ That was the right answer. _

  
  


* * *

Luncheon with the prince passed by routinely. You sat with him while he ate his meal. Casual banter replaced the uncomfortable silence that had earlier filled the room. The conversation drifted from Wakandan weather patterns to the impending royal wedding and, finally, to N’Jadaka’s new privilege.

“T’Challa told me I’m allowed to go outside now,” the prince stated, mouth half-full. “Said, eventually, I can be ‘reintroduced’ to society. You buyin’ his bullshit?”

After all your time with the prince, you were growing accustomed to his...less  _ refined  _ ways of speaking.

“I believe that the king is truthful and earnest. He asked me if I perceived you to be a threat to the public, if I think you capable of more laudable achievements,” you said, swirling the leaves and seeds that had settled to the bottom of a jar of oil.

The prince’s brows raised in surprise. He paused between bites of food.

“You ‘on’t think I’m a threat to you?” His tone danced between incredulous and amused.

You shrugged, a gesture Okoye would have chastised you for.

“You are only a threat to yourself, N’Jadaka,” you asserted, lips loose from ease and familiarity. 

N’Jadaka scoffed. He let his fork clatter loudly against his empty plate as he dropped it to stare at you.

“Oh, so now you think you know me?” He puffed out his chest. His brown eyes blazed in challenge.

“Of course, I do,” you ventured. “I spend more time with you than I do with my own family.

The prince’s bravado wavered. He considered you for a moment, eyes boring into yours. He seemed to be searching for a falsehood or exaggeration. He didn’t find whatever information he appeared to be seeking. Instead, he rubbed his cheek pensively. 

“I guess that’s true for me too. Does that mean that I know you?” He smirked; his general arrogance caused the dimples in his cheeks to deepen.

You stood from the table to hide your eyeroll from the prince. You collected his dishes and began warming a salve in the palms of your hands.

Naturally, during your time with the prince, conversations had shifted toward you. You told N’Jadaka of your family life, of the pressure to continue your family’s legacy of herbal medicine and midwifery. You had always been very sure of your abilities to live up to their standards. That is, until you took your vows as a Dora Milaje. The path, unconventional by your family’s standards, had been met with cautionary words and worried glances from your loved ones. They were less concerned now that the country’s politics had settled. But they could not help but pray to Bast every night for your safety.

“What do you think,” you challenged the prince, motioning for him to stand.

“I’ma say I know you real well.” He stood and raised his arms, allowing you to examine his recovery.

You hummed, but made no other response. Rather, you tended to the nearly-healed gash in his side.

“Oh, I’m wrong,” he asked.

You paused, hands moving in silence. You carefully peeled the sealant from his last cuts and scrapes. He was almost as good as new.

“Yes,” you replied, “You are wrong.” You tipped up your chin in playful arrogance. You avoided N’Jadaka’s eyes. You didn’t have to seem him to know that he was staring at you. His gaze always danced across you, leaving pins and needles in its wake.

“So, I don’t know that story about you getting lost in the dark during your stealth training?” He quirked a brow at you.

You wrinkled your nose at the memory. 

_ It was an especially dark night. Low, dark clouds obscured the moon and stars. The only sounds were the hoots and squeaks of unseen nocturnal creatures. You and your co-initiates had no light source, not even a match. Ayo had given you all the task of tracking an adversary while staying undetectable. The trouble was that it was nearly pitch black in the wooded area. There were not nearly enough bioluminescent plants and insects to light your path. After becoming separated from Nkechi and Hana, you became totally, utterly lost. After passing the same patch of glowing moss four times, you resolved to sit on a tree stump until you were found. Your feet ached, your fingers were numb, and you could hardly see two feet in front of you. It was Nkechi who found you, using the skills you were supposed to be practicing. She would probably never let you live it down. _

Rather than reply, you removed the linen dressing from the prince’s skin.

“I don’t know about that scar from when you fell out the tree in your gramma’s backyard?” He lifted his chin, regarding you with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

_ Your grandmother recruited you to help her gather ingredients for a postpartum tea. The sun was hot and you were stubborn. You just wanted to play with your siblings and cousins. Instead, you were stuck untying bundles of dried herbs. When your grandmother asked you to go to the iboga tree and pick a few of the ripest fruits, you were excited to do something different. Despite her warnings, you climbed the tree and settled on a thin branch. A branch that snapped under your weight. It was a story that your grandmother often retold: the tale of a stubborn girl with a crooked scar on her hand. _

You clicked your tongue. Of course, N’Jadaka would remember the most embarrassing things about you. From all the stories you had shared, that was what he chose to repeat. 

You stepped close to him to examine the scar below his collarbone, the one he had given himself. You had refused to treat it, but the wound had healed fine. The new layer of skin that covered it was raised and glossy. A finger pressed gently to it revealed that there was some inflammation yet. You sighed, made to turn away when he said,

“I know you’ve never been kissed, never been in love.”

You spun to face him. Eyes flickered across his face searching for the punchline to the jest. He was serious.

“I have never said that,” you said lowly.

“You don’t have to. I know you.” He returned your gaze. His dark eyes were intense and steady as they followed yours. He was reading you again. “It’s ok to let me in.”

This time, you did turn away. Lips pressed together crossly. You tossed a tunic into his arms.

“Please get dressed. We must go outside,” you said blandly. You held your head high, but hadn’t the courage to see whatever more hid in N’Jadaka’s eyes. 

The prince dressed without a word. He slipped into a pair of leather shoes, tying them at a snail’s pace. When he rose, he rolled his shoulders. He looked as if preparing for something. The unknown, perhaps. The unexpected. The unpredictable. 

Still inconversable, you held your breath and pressed your palm to the lock on the door. As the door slid open, you stepped aside to let the prince pass. He glided by with stoicism, subtly peering about the empty hallway. You stepped out behind. You were sure to lock his chambers as you left. 

This was it--an inch of freedom. Now to see what he would do with it.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> finally got some idea of where this is going. it was supposed to be a short series but i guess i suck at those :) oh well


	7. two out of three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reader accompanies N'Jadaka during his first taste of freedom

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've never written combat before so...yeah.

Prince N’Jadaka stepped through the gates. His hesitance disguised behind squared shoulders and chin raised high. You followed dutifully behind him. The courtyard was entirely gated, so there was little chance of fleeing. You doubted escape was on the forefront of his mind. This was his first breath of fresh air in over half a moon.

His chest rose and fell as he filled his lungs with the honeyed afternoon air. The sun was especially bright. Shadows of the surrounding trees’ leaves and blossoms were cast on the ground beneath your feet. The walls of the courtyard, made of vibranium and brick, were ten feet tall. Bricks here and there were painted with gilded images of Wakandan mythology. Around the space were various items for sparring and physical exercise. Bamboo batons, practice blades, and thin wooden shields were mounted on the walls. The selection was meager compared to the Dora Milaje training grounds, but it would be more than enough for the prince. At least, while his privileges remained so limited.

While the prince began to inspect the equipment offerings, you took the opportunity to enjoy the cool breeze. The air was melodic with birdsong and the chatter of hidden tree-climbers. The afternoon sun was comforting as it warned your neck and head. Spring days such as these were your favorite. Burgeoning plants, blossoming flowers, the hum of bees and the like. You yearned to stretch your legs in an open field. To swim in a shaded creek. There were dozens of ways you could spend a day as mesmerizing as this, but you had a duty to perform. Something your charge made impossible to forget.

“So this... _ recess.  _ Am I supposed to play hopscotch? Jump rope?” The prince turned to you with a brow raised. 

You met the prince’s gaze with your warrior’s mask. Guards were posted just opposite the gate. It was, once again, necessary to hide the delicate friendship that you had created with the prince.

“Whatever pleases you, Your Highness,” you replied evenly. You hoped that he would understand your change in tone, the subtle shift in your body language. 

The prince’s jaw ticked as he took in the stiffness of your back, the aloof way you stood before him. He understood, even if he did not like it.

Prince N’Jadaka wandered around the space once more. The expanse of the courtyard was larger than his quarters inside the palace. He seemed unsure to do with the excess room. He tried out a practice spear, spinning and thrusting it with relative grace. When he tired of that, he picked up a pair of blunt, wooden blades. He lunged with them halfheartedly. When that was sufficient, he exerted himself with push-ups, crunches, and asanas. He flitted from one exercise to the next like a man with no clear vision, devoting minimal enthusiasm to each one.

Barely panting, yet covered in a thin sheen of sweat, the prince approached you with shoulders slumped.

“I’m bored,” he stated.

You fought to keep the snort of laughter from escaping. You reigned in the approaching smirk and answered him,

“My condolences, My Prince,” you consoled, sarcasm thinly veiled.

The prince did not contain his own uncourtly eye roll.

“Ain’t you missing somethin’? Practice? Training? Animal sacrifice? What do you do when ain’t here with me,” the prince inquired.

It occurred to you that the prince still knew little of your life as a Dora Milaje  _ before _ you had been charged with his care. The only previous experience he’d had with others of your standing was in the throne room or during combat.

“During this time, myself and my co-initiates study weaponry and combat. We spend time in the Wakandan Library expanding our knowledge or in sparring sessions with elder Dora Milaje to hone our skills,” you replied.

“Oh, word?” The prince’s brows rose. “I’ll teach you somethin’.”

You narrowed your eyes just slightly at the prince. 

“You will teach me combat?” The idea was unheard of. The training and initiation of the Dora Milaje was a very regimented and traditional process. The royal family was hardly involved. Rather, elder members of the faction oversaw the continuation of the regiment. 

“Yeah,” he answered, tipping up his chin. “You scared?”

“Hardly,” you said evenly. 

“A’ight,” Prince N’Jadaka chuckled. “You ever heard of Krav Maga?”

You had not.

The prince began to teach you of the fighting system. He described its origins in the Middle East and its more familiar influences of judo, wrestling, and other more familiar methods of self-defense. He listed the principles of the technique. 

**Attack and counterattack.**

**Aim for the opponent’s most vulnerable points.**

**Improvise.**

**Simultaneously attack and defend.**

**Maintain physical aggression.**

His knowledge of the subject seemed endless. 

“Ready,” he asked with a glint in his eye. He deftly pulled his shirt over his head and threw it to the ground. He took a fighting position, knees bent and arms outstretched.

You gulped. You had denied any fear but...seeing N’Jadaka so ready and eager to disarm you had you hesitating. But, despite your reticence, you readied yourself. Body naturally forming the position that had been drilled into you during your hours of training.

You circled one another cautiously for a heartbeat. 

Then, one. 

Two.

Three.

For an eternity, the dance continued. He was measuring you up. And obviously. His eyes flitted from the shuffling of your feet to the tilt of your head, searching for any weakness. Any favored side. Any blindspot. Just as you noticed the slight twitch of his foot, he lunged.

He had intended to tackle you, using his size as a weapon.

_ A predictable move _ , you thought to yourself as you sidestepped him. As his maneuver ended, yours began. You grabbed his non-dominant arm--his left--and used it to propel yourself onto his shoulders. It was clear that it caught him off guard as he lost his balance and tumbled to the ground, taking you with him. Rather than be ensnared in his tangle of limbs, you rolled swiftly to your feet.

“Oh, that’s what they be teachin’ y’all,” N’Jadaka panted as he rose to his feet. Captivity had affected his condition. His chest heaved as he regained his breath.

“Something like that,” you retorted. Your gaze flickered to the injury on his side. It did not seem to trouble him, but you would be careful regardless.

N’Jadaka followed your gaze.

“I’m good, ma,” he assured, gesturing to his ribs. “Let’s practice what I taught you: weak spots.”

You didn’t hide your frown as you reluctantly resumed your crouch. Again, you watched the prince watch you. This time, he smirked before he lunged.

N’Jadaka made for your throat. You realized too late where his real target lay. The base of his left hand--more dominant than you thought--thrust directly into your solar plexus. In that moment, you regretted not wearing the leather and vibranium corselette often donned during sparring sessions. N’Jadaka’s heavy blow knocked the wind from your lungs. Clearly not satisfied until his opponent was completely out of sorts, the prince swept your feet from under you with a low kick. You landed on your ass with a thud, sore in too many places.

In no hurry for a third round, you squinted up at the prince with a huff.

“Are you quite pleased with yourself, My Prince,” you asked, sarcasm slipping between your words.

He smirked down at you and offered you a hand. You hesitantly took it, wary of what he might try next.

“You gon’ tap out already,” he challenged.

You dusted off your backside with a huff. 

“Once more,” you conceded, “But only if we do it my way...Your Highness.”

The prince watched you curiously as you made your way over to the practice weapons mounted along the courtyard wall. You considered the selections carefully before selecting two bamboo “spears”. You tossed one to the prince, which he caught and eyed closely.

“I am ready whenever you are, Your Highness,” you stated warmly, feeling confident with the weapon in your hand.

“Why do I get the feelin’ that this is payback?” The prince planted his feet at shoulder-width. He tested the weight of the spear in his hands.

“I would never dream of such a thing, My Prince,” you said, hand pressed over your heart in exaggerated offense.

He shook his head, seeing straight through your attitude.

And the dance began again. A pair of warriors circling to phantom music. Steps light and shoulders strong. Eyes unstill and hands held tight. You were patient and allowed N’Jadaka to lead. Practice or not, it would be unsightly to attack a member of the royal family. Even with a hollow, tipless spear.

You did not wait long, however, as the prince made the first move. He swung staff to your side, aiming for your liver. A blow intended to slow you down. You saw it coming, this time, and blocked the blow with one of your own--straight to the prince’s groin. 

Prince N’Jadaka winced. His knees buckled but he remained on his feet.

“That was a cheap shot,” he ground out, hissing your name. 

You shrugged, holding your weapon in a defensive stance.

“You informed me that I should aim for my adversary’s weak spots. I was simply practicing the lesson,” you simpered.

“Oh, I got a lesson for you,” he threatened. He swung the spear from left to right, forcing you to block his every movement. His speed increased such that all you saw was the blurry beige of the implements swinging before your eyes. Sweat glistened on his brow as he pushed himself to best you. The close proximity of your bodies left you vulnerable to his weighty blows. You leapt back an arm’s length, watching your opponent with sharp eyes. 

“Afraid of a little proximity?” The prince smirked.

“No,” a huff, “But you should be.” 

With that, you lunged forward, driving your shoulder into the prince’s chest. The side of the spear jutted under his chin. The force of your movements and the awkward angle of his sight caused the prince to lose his balance. He toppled back. Unfortunately, his legs tangled with yours, bringing you down with him. 

You both landed to the ground with a grunt, chest to chest. Rather, your face to N’Jadaka’s bare chest. In your lapse of equilibrium, you managed to wedge yourself between his legs. Your arms stretched strangely above your head. You scrambled to your feet quickly, averting your gaze as you offered the prince a hand. 

He declined your aid, preferring to stand on his own accord.

You retrieved the dropped spears and made to return them to their rightful place. A hand suddenly grasping your wrists stopped you in your hurried stride. 

The prince’s touch on your skin sent a jolt of electricity through your skin. It was a sensation you hardly wanted to admit to yourself. On the sensitive skin of your wrist, you could feel the rough calluses of his fingers. The warmth of his grasp rippled to your cheeks, your chest, and somewhere entirely undignified. You pulled your arm away, hoping the redness in your face was imperceptible.

“I think that it is best that we go inside, My Prince. You have thoroughly exerted yourself today. You will need rest,” you said smoothly, breathing your heart to a steadier pace.

N’Jadaka smirked and gave you a sidelong glance.

“I guess playtime is over,” he cracked.

You escorted the prince back to his chambers. Not one word was spoken between the two of you. At first, you assumed that it was the awkwardness that had suddenly begun to bubble in your stomach. However, when N’Jadaka dropped heavily into his chair, you realized that he was truly just tired. Relieved, you examined his wounds. A little redness was apparent--along with some fresh scrapes and bruises--but he was otherwise in fine shape. After seeing to his care, you made to depart from your duty.

“Wait,” he called from behind you.

You paused at the door and set your bag down.

“Is something the matter?”

The bright afternoon sun did nothing to hide the fatigue on the prince’s face. The rays illuminated the bags beneath his eyes and the wrinkling of his brow. He looked up at you, eyes searching.

“Can you, uh, help me get changed,” he asked sheepishly. “Please.”

Either he was attempting to deceive you or he was in more pain than he let on. You would find out either way.

“What attire would you prefer,” you asked. He was clad in only a pair of linen trousers. His shirt lay discarded on the floor, covered in dirt from the ground outside.

“There are some pajamas in that drawer,” he said, pointing. “I just need help gettin’ a shirt on. Think I can manage pants on my own.”

You nodded.

“Can you reach the bed without my assistance?”

“Yeah, yeah. I got it,” he said, rising to stand. He barely rose from the chair before he stopped, swearing under his breath.

You rushed to his side, afraid of a wound that had slipped your attention. 

“I’m good, ma. I just--its probably a pulled muscle. I can handle it,” he reassured.

You gave him a calculating look. There were wrinkles in his brow that were not there before. He leaned to one side as if sitting up straight pained him.

“Here,” you said, offering your shoulder. “Lean on me.”

A beat passed as he wrestled with his ego. Eventually, he slung his arm across your shoulders and let you carry a portion of his weight. You slowly crossed the small distance between the chair and the bed. 

The effort left him winded. His chest rose and fell heavily as he caught his breath. You picked up the pajama top, rolling the hem to the collar just as your mother used to do when she helped you dress. You guided the shirt over the prince’s head. The long sleeves of the top proved to be a challenge, but he never once complained.

You handed him the pajama pants and watched as he struggled to lift his knee. He stopped, looking down at the pants in his hands. He looked up at you, locs falling into his face. His eyes were round and bashful; he seemed suddenly younger, softer.

He cleared his throat before he asked, “Could you, uh--.”

“Of course, N’Jadaka,” you said, smiling gently at his embarrassment. 

You gingerly helped the prince ease out of his trousers and into a pair of pajama pants. The quiet intimacy of the moment had your face hot. 

After just a few mishaps, you helped N’Jadaka lie down on the bed and draped a blanket over him.

“Rest for now. I will be back this evening with your meal and something for your injuries. I apologize for my enthusiasm this afternoon. It is my fault that you are hurt. I will take my leave,” you stated, turning away.

The warmth of his hand on yours startled you more than it should have. The sound of your name across his lips startled you even more. 

“Wait,” he beckoned for the second time that day. He pulled you to sit on the edge of the bed. It was improper, but you remained. Back straight and eyes on the floor.

“Look at me,” he commanded. 

You complied, only out of duty. 

“What I tell you about that proper shit? Leave it outside. It’s just you and me in here,” he said.

You pursed your lips, but nodded in agreement. 

“It’s a habit,” you excused.

“I know it is,” he paused. “Don’t be sorry. It’s my own fault I got beat up. I ain’t wanna lose to no girl.”

You snatched your hand from his and cut him a sharp look. The devilish grin on his face cracked the warrior’s mask you struggled to hold on to.

“There it goes. That’s the smile I was waitin’ for.”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	8. a dream within a dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just how much truth lies in dreams?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know this took forever and a day. i could have added another ~1500 but i’ll save that for later! royal wedding soon come <3

The days blurred together as the palace continued to pulse with excitement. While the other members of the royal family were preoccupied with the preparations for King T’Challa’s wedding to Nakia, you and your co-initiates continued your training. Lessons in protocol and defense were increasingly imperative as Wakanda would soon have a new queen. All the while, Prince N’Jadaka remained under your care. Your mornings were filled with fitness and N’Jadaka. Afternoons with study and N’Jadaka. Evenings with training and N’Jadaka. You were afraid that he would begin to invade your dreams as well.

Fortunately though, the king decided to give his cousin a little extra allowance. After a successful week of sparring, the prince’s time outside was left with less supervision. No guards were placed at every entry and exit point; camera surveillance was constant. The prince’s living quarters were expanded. He was allowed access to an additional wing that featured a kitchen and modest pantry. As instructed, you continued to bring his dinner. Rather than provide earlier meals, you brought fresh produce and other necessities. Your conversations with him were filled with lighthearted jokes and anecdotes. Somehow, you had begun to look forward to your time with him. It was a break from sore muscles and tired eyes. You could drop the mask, even if just for a little while.

* * *

The day had been a pleasant one. Though Okoye had not told you so, you and the others had a feeling that your training was coming to an end. Your morning session was simply a review of combat stances and conditioning exercises. The afternoon session was comprised of sparring and weapon practice. The evening was spent reviewing constellations for nocturnal navigation. Easy stuff. After dinner with your co-initiates and more senior Dora Milaje, it was time to finally wind down.

You stepped into your dormitory, greeting Hana and Nkechi. 

“Oho, look who’s back from her evening with the prince,” Nkechi snickered. She reclined in a chair, legs dangling over the side of it. She wore an impish grin across her face.

You raised a questioning brow.

“Do you find this out of the ordinary,” you asked.

Nkechi’s grin never faltered.

“No, of course not. You spend every day with him,” she insinuated.

Hana sat watching the two of you in silence. She likely had plenty of thoughts whirling through her mind, though she wouldn’t share them. Not with Nkechi around. She was loud enough for all three of you.

You decided against pursuing whatever matter Nkechi was getting at. Preferring rather to toe off your shoes in preparation for a shower. There was sand and dust in your nostrils. Earth streaked behind your ears. Dried sweat caught in the crevices of your attire. A part of you--a very small part--wondered what N’Jadaka thought when he saw you this way. Was he repulsed by the sight of a bruised cheek? Did a split lip offend him? Or did he respect the duress you put your body through for the sake of your country? You didn’t really want to know. Not really. You were simply...curious.

Right?

“Every. Day,” Nkechi repeated, tearing you from your ruminations. “I am sure that the two of you have developed quite a bond, no? I heard that he still will not allow any other to care for him. Even when bringing him fresh bread. Why do you think that is?” 

You could tell from the conspiratorial tone and winsome look in her eyes that she was implying something you would rather not entertain. 

You had no feelings for the prince, you told yourself. An acquaintanceship was all there was. Nothing more, nothing less.

“I am sure that the prince prefers to see a familiar face,” Hana reasoned. “He is, otherwise, alone in a country he does not know. Would you want a different stranger every day invading your only bit of space in this world?”

You gave Hana a gracious glance. She always came through with a bit of wisdom.

Nkechi scoffed. 

“When the prince is permitted to walk the palace as a free man, we will see the true nature of his feelings towards you,” Nkechi foretold.

There are no feelings, you thought to yourself. You were a friend to him. A reassuring presence. Rather than voice that, you continued on your quest for a shower. A little steam and hot water was all you wanted this night. 

The hot water soothed the tight ache of your muscles. You squinted through the drops to watch the detritus of the day swirl at your feet before draining away for good. The water on your shorn scalp was especially therapeutic. It was hard to fret with the steady beat of water on your head. The air was filled with the scent of the herbal scrub you had made. The oils leaving a cooling sensation on your skin. You took a deep breath, an attempt to loosen the tension in your shoulders. There was so much going on in the palace, in your heart. 

You stepped out and swathed yourself in a coarse towel. After dressing in your night clothes, you padded to your shared bedroom. Only Hana was there when you arrived. She sat in her bed, reading a thick and yellowed volume from the library.

Upon hearing you enter, she closed the book on her lap and looked at your expectantly. Brown eyes wide and waiting.

“Go on,” she murmured, giving you her full attention.

You shuffled nervously. Flitting about the room for a lotion for your skin, slippers for your feet, anything to stall the impending conversation.

“Go on what?” Only to stall some more.

Hana simply watched you patiently. Her gaze was not unkind, not heavy. Only expectant. Open and willing.

You sat on the edge of your bed and began to rub a fragrant cream into your arms and legs. When you finished, you looked down at your hands pensively.

“I am afraid,” you confessed.

Hana arched a brow. She turned to face you fully, book left forgotten by her side.

“Afraid of what, usisi?” _Sister._

You shrugged, folding your legs beneath you.

“Afraid of this,” you paused. “ _Something_ with the prince. I do not know what it is. But, I fear that I am more than just a caregiver to the prince.”

“What do you believe you are to him?”

You thought for a moment.

“A friend,” you replied.

Hana smiled at you gently.

“There is nothing wrong with that,” she comforted.

You looked at her in surprise.

“Hana, it is improper! He is Prince; I am Dora Milaje. This is not the way we should interact!”

“Then, why do you? Why allow it if you feel it is such an impropriety?”

You collapsed onto your bed and stared at the wood ceiling.

“If the prince insists that I refer to him by his first name, who am I to refuse,” you questioned.

You were met with silence. Hana was a quiet woman but not that much so. You rolled over to see that her jaw had fallen open.

“He asked you to do what,” she asked.

“You see!” You bolted back up. “It is trouble! I worry of what we mean to each other.”

Hana closed her mouth before opening it again to speak.

“‘ _We_ ’? I thought you were worried of what you meant to him. This sounds like it goes more than one way.”

Now, it was your turn to open and close your mouth without speaking. Your thoughts whirled. You felt like you had been caught, like some sin committed had been revealed. But, there was nothing to hide. Right? It was natural that you felt conflicted, given the situation at hand. You had been given an unusual and rare responsibility. Expectedly, you were having some rare and unusual feelings.

“It is only one way. I am just feeling a bit uneasy. That is all,” you said, rolling onto your back. You covered yourself in the thickly woven bed covers. The coarse material was pleasant against your skin. Buried in blankets, you hoped in vain to shield yourself from any decisions, any possible conflict or tension.

“Trust your instincts, usisi. They will never fail you,” Hana assured, pulling her own covers up to her chest.

_Instinct_.

It was something you all had been trained to hone. To listen to and rely on. They were needed during your training exercises in the inky black of night. Needed in combat practice. Needed when assessing a situation or opponent for risk. And now, for this strange, new thing between Prince N’Jadaka and you. You hoped that your instincts would not lead you astray.

Just a silence settled about the room, Nkechi entered.

“Gone to bed so soon,” she asked as she plopped onto her bed. “Don’t you want to stay up and gossip?”

You rolled onto your side, resting your head on your arm.

“Just what new gossip do you have at such an hour, Nkechi? I hope it is about sleeping,” you grumbled from your pillow. 

“You do not want to know?” Nkechi sighed dramatically. “I guess I will keep it to myself then.”

“Good,” Hana said.

You burrowed deeper into the bed. You hoped Nkechi would turn off the lights once she settled in. Sleep was pulling you deep into your mattress.

Nkechi sighed again, sharply. Clearly for the sake of preventing any sleep you were intending to get.

“I just wanted to tell my two closest friends something that I thought would be important to them. To one in particular,” she whined.

“What is it?” From Hana’s cocoon of blankets.

“Oh, no. Do not worry about it. You are tired! You should rest,” Nkechi said, unable to hide her grin.

Regretfully, you sat up from the bed. Immediately missing the warmth of your covers.

“Just tell us, Nkechi,” you drawled, tongue heavy with drowsiness and short patience.

Nkechi waited for a moment. Letting the suspense hang humid in the air. You considered closing your eyes to go to sleep when she blurted,

“Prince N’Jadaka will be permitted to attend the royal wedding!”

Your eyes widened at that. If you had more energy, you would have sat straight up.

“Nkechi, do not jest. A wedding is a very serious tradition,” Hana scolded.

You were speechless. You hoped that Nkechi was truly joking around. In Wakandan tradition, the betrothed must have a male and female relative present during the ceremony. Nakia’s parents would be there. Queen Mother would be present for King T’Challa. The death of his father, King T’Chaka, left the second spot vacant. King T’Challa had plenty of distant male relatives, but a stronger blood tie was believed to make for a stronger marriage. Prince N’Jadaka was the best choice. 

Sort of.

“I am being serious! I overheard the Queen Mother discussing the ceremony with the elders!,” Nkechi said defensively.

“Nkechi!” Hana chided again. “You were eavesdropping!”

Nkechi laughed.

“I was gathering information so as to prepare our usisi for her new assignment,” she explained.

You sat up this time. It seemed things were only going to become more complicated.

“What are you talking about,” you asked.

Nkechi wiggled her eyebrows at you.

“After the wedding, it seems that the prince will no longer be held in custody. He will still be living in the palace, but of his own free will--more or less. I doubt they will allow him to venture much further than the city limits,” she said. “If even that far.”

“But what does that have to do with me?” You had a feeling you knew already.

“As long as Prince N’Jadaka is in fine health, you will no longer be caring for him. You will, however, be guarding him while he attends the wedding ceremony,” Nkechi said slyly.

“What? Why me? Just me?” Of course, the prince would need protection during the royal wedding. After his failed coup, there were certain to be some disgruntled citizens present. Wakanda was a relatively safe nation. Your homeland was not known for its conflict or violence. Prince N’Jadaka’s arrival had certainly been an exception. You doubted that you could assuredly protect him from the many who likely wished him harm. “That is a terrible idea.”

Nkechi shrugged and began to change into her pajamas.

“Take it up with the Queen Mother,” she scoffed.

You groaned and sank into your pillows. You kicked your blankets in frustration, tossing in your bed in an effort to get comfortable. After saying your goodnights, your body eventually found sleep. But your mind was as active as ever.

_The wedding was the most opulent you had ever seen. Every pillar, every wall, every surface was bedecked in the kingdom’s colors. Flickering gold streamers swung low from the rafters, rippling in the breeze. Swaths of fine silk billowed in the wind. Drapes adorned with miniscule gems and seed pearls sparkled in the sunlight. Rare blossoms were arranged on the smooth stone platform. The air was heavy with the sweet, husky scent of flowers and burning resin. The sounds of drumbeats and melodic voices surged through your veins. The anticipation of the event fluttered ‘round your belly. The ground hummed with the thump of thousands of feet as they stepped in time to the chanting of the elders. The ceremony had yet to start, but the moment already felt holy._

_By the size of the crowd, it looked as if every member of every village was present for the occasion. You even spotted the less familiar sight of Jabari tribespeople on the outskirts. They were easy to spot in their skins and furs. The din of the crowd rose to a swell as King T’Challa and Nakia made their way to the dais. The king looked stately in his tunic and trousers. His chest and wrists decorated with heirloom gold and vibranium adornments. But, the real star was his bride. Nakia wore the rich forest green of her tribespeople. The gown she wore draped around her looked simple and plain at first glance. But, with a closer look, one could see the tiny Wakandan typography embroidered onto the fabric. The vibranium-infused threads caught the sunlight just right. She shined brighter than any heavenly body in the sky._

_The Queen Mother looked at her son and soon-to-be daughter-in-law with a smile that reached even past her eyes. She smiled from her full self, watching her only child continue to make herself and the homeland proud. Though fully invested in the emotion of the fete, you kept your gaze sharp and watchful as the priests began the ceremony. You stood guard behind N’Jadaka, ready for any threat. Your vigilant gaze flicked from N’Jadaka to the crowd and back. You would not forget your training: to be watchful even in times of rest. Despite the restlessness of your legs underneath you, you resisted the urge to shuffle your feet. One lapse of focus was all it could take._

_A priest anointed both King T’Challa and Nakia’s brows with fragrant oil. The time for Prince N’Jadaka’s part was almost nigh. The prince looked surprisingly relaxed. He stood tall, shoulders straight as a priest turned and handed him the reed basket flower petals for the next part of the ceremony. He stepped forward for his part, arms outstretched. Just as he stepped away from you, you heard it--the whish of an arrow through the air, the wet and sharp tearing of flesh, the clatter of the basket as it toppled to the ground. Gossamer thin flower petals stuck to the ground, weighed down with the warmth of Prince N’Jadaka’s blood. A scream rang out; who it belonged to, you didn’t know. Your throat was raw and dry. Had it been you?_

_You knelt by the prince as he doubled over in pain. The wound reopening the scar that you had so carefully healed. A frenzy followed as those on the dais dispersed. Fellow Dora Milaje ushered King T’Challa, Nakia, and Queen Ramonda off to safety._

_It was just you and he._

_“My prince,” you breathed. “I am here. Stay with me.”_

_His breathing was heavy and pained. Sweat formed on his brow as his eyes struggled to focus on yours._

_A sharp pain in your side drew your attention away from the man before you. You clutched your side, looking for the source of your ailment. Your breath caught in your throat as blood began to pool beneath the silk of your gown._

_Gown?_

_Your rugged armor had been replaced by thin drapes of fabric adorned with Wakandan script. You ran your shaking hands over your dress, chest, arms, head. Your scalp was no longer shorn, rather your hair was long and braided in the style of Wakanda princess. Your feet were no longer clad in the flat boots of a warrior, but intricate slippers worn for ceremony. You looked around frantically, head spinning from equal parts confusion and pain. The feeling of warm hands on your face grounded you to the present._

_You looked up to see N’Jadaka, face mere inches from yours. His eyes searched yours fiercely._

_“I’m right here. Stay with me,” he breathed, your name tumbling from his lips like an earnest prayer to Bast._

A familiar voice called your name in a harsh whisper. You woke with a start, eyes wide and wild in the dark. Your hands went instinctively to your side. You found the spot unscathed and still covered in your sleeping attire. A figure standing at your bedside called your attention. 

Okoye looked down at you calmly.

“It is time,” she said.

Your eyes met Nkechi’s in the darkness. Ayo stood by her. A third Dora had roused Hana from her sleep. 

This was it--the finale of your training.

The three of you filed through the flame-lit hallways, bare feet pattering on the stone floors. A dozen elder Dora Milaje joined as yourself and your co-initiates walked solemnly through this wing of the palace. Just before you reached the doors that led outside, Okoye and the others wrapped the trio in thick ceremonial cloth. Covering you from head to knee.

You continued on your silent journey on a well-worn dirt path. You could feel Nkechi’s excitement beside you. You all knew what this moment meant--all of your hours of hard work were culminating in this very moment. Rather than revel in the relief and fervor, your mind whirred with blurs of the dream you had only just woken from. With each step into the cool pre-dawn air, the images crept back to you.

A wedding.

_The_ wedding.

The royal wedding. Everything had been going fine. You remember the smile on the Queen Mother’s face, the cheers of the crowd. The gold accents on the king’s attire, the minute details of Nakia’s gown. Prince N’Jadaka had been there. For some reason, in your dream, he had still been shirtless. 

_Of course, he was._

Something had happened. You wracked your brain as your feet moved mindlessly forward over the dew-covered grass. The prince had gotten hurt. There had been blood. But, then it was your blood and you were the one who had been hurt. And you had been the one getting married. In a royal ceremony. The groom...it hadn’t been King T’Challa.

_No, it was…_

It was Prince N’Jadaka who had cradled your face as you bled. It had been he who stood before you, clad in traditional matrimonial attire. 

You remembered something that your mother had always told after you recounted your dreams to her as a child.

_“In every dream dwells a bit of truth.”_

That was not hard to believe. King T’Challa and Nakia were to be married. Queen Ramonda and Prince N’Jadaka were going to be a part of the ceremony. And, if what Nkechi had told you was to be believed, you would be serving as the prince’s armed guard during the wedding rites. Sometime during the ceremony, Prince N’Jadaka had been hurt. You waded through the cloudy memory. He had been shot with something. 

An arrow?

You had gone to him to staunch the bleeding. But, somewhere along the way, you had ended up getting hurt instead. You had begun the dream as your true self. Somehow, you had ended up the bride. N’Jadaka, your groom. That wasn’t reality. It wasn’t a desire either. Sure, it would be nice to find love and be married but...N’Jadaka would never want to marry you. Not that you wanted him to want to. Such a thing did not happen in your homeland. Not that you wanted it to. Not really. Bast only knew if the man would ever make a good husband. To you. Not that you wanted him to. Not really.

Your ruminations were interrupted by the halting of movement in front of you. You took in your surroundings fully for the first time since leaving your quarters. You all stood in a clearing. One you had never seen or heard of before. The ground was covered in soft moss and lichen, a relief to your bare feet. Overhead was a shelter of trees. Their all boughs growing toward one another, interlacing to form ligneous canopy. 

Whatever was to come next, you were ready for it.


	9. crown of honor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> reader achieves her goal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: none

The clearing was silent but for the buzz and hum of insects. The air seemed static, both still and ever-moving. The trees overhead hardly moved; the leaves hardly rustled. As the three of you stood huddled in your wraps, the crowd of senior Dora Milaje circled you and joined hands. Their low voices sounded in unison. A susurrating prayer to Bast beseeching her fierce protection and prophetism. As the prayer continued, Hana pulled you all in close, foreheads touching. Eyes closed, you murmured the words as they had been taught to you. 

_ This is it. _

The conclusion of your hours of training. The endless nights poring over volumes and texts. The bruises, strained muscles, scuffs and scrapes. The dream you had held tightly on to in the core of your being. Very soon, you would no longer be new initiates but fully-realized Dora Milaje. A part of the fold.

When the invocation ended, Ayo ignited clay lanterns around the clearing. The warm firelight cast the space in an otherworldly glow. The air filled with the smell of cleansing jasmine and juniper. All at once, the forest clearing turned from collection of trees to a consecrated temple. Your veins thrummed with excitement. Your heart drummed with anticipation.

The initiation rites began first with the cleansing by smoke. Then, an offering to the ancestors. Palm wine was poured into the soft earth. Time simultaneously whirred by and stood stock still. Soft rays of early morning sunlight filtered through the spaces in the trees. The citrine light caught in it swirls of incense smoke. The tendrils glittered languidly in the air. Your senses were, all at once, dull and sharp. You felt asleep and awake. 

Okoye stood and gestured for the three of you to sit in the center of the clearing. As you settled, three senior members stepped forward with arms full. In the light of early morning, you could make out the implements as they laid them down. Bunches of an analgesic herb. Bowls of a swirling, black liquid. Thin sticks of gypsum. Tools made of bamboo and obsidian. 

At the general’s instruction, you bowed your head. Nia, a more senior member, cradled your head gently. In the quiet of the dawn, you made out the sound of torn leaves. You felt something cool and damp touch your scalp. The earthy smell of tingflower leaves filled your nostrils. Nia carefully began to trace precise chalk lines onto your scalp, after the leaf juice dried. The same was done to the others--plants rubbed into skin, careful lines drawn by knowing hands. When your scalp was outlined in off-white figures, Nia began her work. She dipped the sharp obsidian tip in black ink and began tap tap tapping the ink into your numbed skin. The sensation was strange. Pain free, yet the steady movement reverberated around in your head. You closed your eyes, lulled by the rhythmic drumming on your head. You would have nodded off to sleep if not for voices reminding you to keep your head up. You felt as if you could sleep for three days. Body suddenly heavy with the whirlwind of the events that had passed. The wrap around your shoulders was nothing compared to the familiar softness of the blanket on your bed. You longed for the feel of a pillow beneath your head. For now, there was nothing but soft earth under your bottom and steady tap tap tap on your head.

After a time--minutes or hours, you hardly knew--Nia’s tapping subsided. Your tattoo was complete. The numbing effects of the plant rubbed on your scalp had subsided, just slightly. There was a slight throbbing in your head. Your scalp and ears felt warm. You weren’t sure if it was the discomfort or the lack of food and rest. Something had you swaying where you sat. Your vision blurred and your stomach flipped. You took deep breaths--in through the nose, out through your mouth--to keep from retching. 

Cool fingers curled around yours, grounding you back to your hazy present. You looked up to meet Hana’s fatigued gaze. Though her eyes were puffy and red, she looked formidable still. Her scalp was adorned with the sacred geometry of the Dora Milaje tradition. Indigo-tinged strokes and stars lined the top of her head, almost like a crown. Even weighed down by the same lethargy that pressed on your shoulders, Hana sat tall.

“Amandla,” she murmured to you.  _ Strength. _

You were almost through the fire. This was the last step, the last trial. 

You took another steadying breath and squared your shoulders. You sat stall and calm. You could do this. You had been through far worse during your training and initiation. Fractures and sprains. Suffocating heat and splintering cold. Days when you nearly wanted to pack your bags and go back to your village. To return to the life you knew, plant medicine and rootwork as your ancestors had done. A path noble and esteemed. But this? This was a path that surpassed lineage and village ties. It was one older than Wakanda itself. It was finally within your grasp. 

You squeezed your hand around Hana’s. Nkechi sat with her eyes closed; you were afraid to disturb her.

After gently applying more of the numbing ointment to your scalp, Nia and the others helped you all to stand. Those seated at the perimeter neared and encircled the three of you. They intertwined their arms and pulled you close. Your ears filled with the sounds of over a dozen hushed voices murmuring a final prayer--a praise to Bast for seeing you through the trials to your place as Dora Milaje, fully realized.

The backs of your eyes warmed with burgeoning tears as the air filled with whoops and ululations. Your dry lips pulled into an incredulous smile.

The crowd of Dora Milaje, now your peers, jostled to each get the opportunity to pull you into a tight embrace. The force of which nearly knocked you over. A blend of outpoured love and a lack of sleep. After bleary-eyed smiles and too many “thank you”s, the throng led you back to your dormitory. They gave you a simple meal to restore your strength and a tea to aid with your healing. Before long, after a sloth-slow shower--just enough to rinse the dirt from your feet--you were back in your bed. Your duties for the remainder of the day were waived. There were no more lessons and little training. As for Prince N’Jadaka, he would have to wait.

_ It is done _ , you thought.

You fell asleep just moments after your head hit the pillow. You slept soundly and without dreams. Limbs heavy from exertion; eyelids shut soundly after all you had seen. 

You did not awaken until the evening of the next day. Over twelve hours of slumber. You arose and dressed slowly. There was no rush today. It would be weeks until you received an assignment. For now, you could spend your days more or less at leisure. There had been no word whether or not you were still charged with the prince’s care. You figured the best decision was to continue in your routine until directed otherwise.

You went to the palace to fetch a few goods for his pantry. You added a few extra things to your satchel, coffee and American indulgences he hadn’t tasted in some time. You padded off quickly. The less eyes that saw you, the better. You had no hopes that Nkechi’s love for gossip would dampen after your final initiation. 

You arrived at N’Jadaka’s door, nearly out of breath. You palmed the biometric lock and let yourself in. 

“Room service,” you called, feeling suddenly giddy. You set your bag down, senses overwhelmed with the smell of sweet spices. 

N’Jadaka rounded the corner, mixing bowl in hand. A cloth was tied around his waist like an apron. He looked surprisingly domestic.

“Where you been at, ma,” he asked, eyeing you with that now-familiar intensity. “Thought somethin’ happened to you.”

“I apologize. I brought you some extra things, though. To make up for going missing,” you added.

“‘s that right?” He raised a curious brow. He set his cooking down and inspected your wares. 

You held your breath while he rummaged.

“Yo,” he exclaimed. He looked at you, eyes wide and sparkling. “How’d you get all this?”

You grinned, satisfied the surprise had the effect you had intended.

“Forget dinner. We gotta get into this right the fuck now!”

You raised your brows.

“Who is ‘we’? This is for you, N’Jadaka.”

The prince strode to the kitchen. He placed the mixing bowl in the refrigerator and turned off the stove.

“You ever had any of this stuff before?” He leaned against the counter, arms folded. It was clear he knew the answer to his own question.

“No, I have not,” you confessed.

He smirked.

“That’s about to change,” he said. He gestured to the table. “Have a seat.”

N’Jadaka laid the treats out before you. He retrieved an empty bowl and two glasses full of ice and set them down. He opened a crinkling bag of something oddly red in color. The smell of chili filled your nostrils. He unscrewed a plastic bottle and poured its carmine contents into each glass. Lasty, he ripped open a bag of something colorful and square.

Nothing in front of you looked appetizing. Yet, N’Jadaka looked at it as if it was a feast. You had been excited to see these snacks in the international market in the Golden City, but

“A’ight. Which one you wanna try first,” he asked.

You almost hid your apprehension. Almost. 

“None of them,” you said scrunching your nose.

“Wow,” he dragged out, clutching his chest in feigned offense. “I’m tryna break bread with you and you gon’ turn me down? I’m hurt.”

You rolled your eyes.

“Such theatrics. I will try them. But, you choose,” you conceded.

“Bet,” he replied with a toothy grin. He reached into the plastic and pulled out a small, purple square. He handed you that one and removed a red square for himself. He sat down at the table beside you and began to pull the paper from the square thing in his hand.

“Go ‘head. Don’t be scared. It’s good, I promise,” he assured you.

You squinted at him with suspicion but proceeded unwrapping the mystery between your fingertips. You inspected the odd confection and placed it in your mouth. It was chewy. A bit tough really. The flavor was sickly sweet. Fruit-like, perhaps. But not like any fruit you had tasted before. Bits of the candy stuck to your teeth. 

“Whatchu think? It’s called a Now and Later. That one was grape-flavored,” N’Jadaka said, chomping on a green candy.

You pulled a face. The taste of the candy was still heavy on your tongue.

“Is this what grapes taste like in America?”

N’Jadaka snickered.

“Not exactly,” he answered, gesturing to the glass in front of you. “Wash it down with that.”

You eyed the beverage before you. It fizzed and popped. You brought the cup to your nose and sniffed. It smelled just as sweet as the “now and later” he gave you. You took a careful sip.

You bit your lip to keep from voicing your disgust.

N’Jadaka downed his glass and poured another.

“I used to drink this stuff all the time growin’ up. It’s called Tahitian Treat,” he informed you.

“They drink this in Tahiti,” you asked, mouth twisted in distaste.

He chuckled then. Clearly, amused by your suffering.

“That’s just the name, ma. Here,” he said, pushing the bowl of chili-scented somehings closer to you. “Try these.”

You eyed the alleged  _ food _ (apparently Americans used that term loosely) with weariness. It was nearly as brightly-colored as the other abominations he had insisted you try. You carefully plucked one of the foreign objects from the bowl. You hesitantly placed it between your lips and crunched.

N’Jadaka watched you as your eyes widened.

“Bast! What is this?” You took another from the bowl. “It is wonderful!”

“You like it,” N’Jadaka asked, clearly pleased. He pushed the bowl closer to you, but not before taking a few of the snacks for himself.

“Very much,” you replied, only slightly perturbed by the red coating that persisted on your fingertips. 

“They’re called Hot Fries,” he said, munching.

“‘Flaming Hot’”, you read on the bag. “Are these meant to be very spicy?”

N’Jadaka made a sound in the affirmative. Anything more eloquent was impossible with a mouth full of hot fries.

“They should change the name to ‘vaguely spice-like. It is more accurate,” you said. 

N’Jadaka snorted, wiping his scarlet-tipped hands on a napkin.

“That’s catchy. You should go into marketing,” he quipped.

You glared at him in mild annoyance. He dodged the candy wrapper you aimed at his head. 

The two of you sat in comfortable amusement. You left the soda unfinished. The condensation on the glass left a pool of water on the table. You left the chewy candies too. If grape had been that awful, you didn’t want anything to do with the other flavors. The crisps, however? You nearly ate the entire bowl. N’Jadaka sat back in his seat. He mindlessly folded candy wrappers as he ate them.

“I noticed you did something different with your hair,” he said with a smirk.

You snorted. It was a sound unbecoming of someone of your new standing. But, you couldn’t resist. You knew N’Jadaka didn’t care.

“Something like that. It’s called  _ inki imbeko _ . It signifies that I have completed my studies and training.”

N’Jadaka raised his brows in wonderment.

“So, you some big shot now,” he stated.

“Not exactly. I'm fully Dora Milaje now. No longer a novice,” you explained. You had been fully initiated. But, you had no title. Not like Okoye or Ayo. That would come with time and hard work. If you continued to prove yourself--to learn and grow as a warrior--you could reach higher heights. But, for now, you and your co-initiates would have simpler, smaller assignments. Like the royal wedding. You were unsure if N’Jadaka had been informed of his place in the ceremony. Did he know that he had been invited at all? You would not be the one to tell him. It was not your place.

“I’m proud of you.” His voice tore you from your thoughts. He had been watching you, as you knew him to do. Dark eyes steady on yours.

You smiled shyly, unaccustomed to his praise. Your face grew warm. You focused intently on the rivulets of water forming around your glass. Unwilling to allow him to see how his words affected you. He had come into your life as a foe and, by Bast, had become a friend. You feared that, if you were not careful, he would transform into something else entirely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter was allll over the place, i'm so sorry. It's kind of a filler.
> 
> but things are about to heat up!
> 
> comments are very much loved <3


	10. you know me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prince N'Jadaka attends the royal wedding

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: violence, angst, mentions of blood and wound care, tension, fluff

Somehow, in the whirlwind of your initiation and the responsibilities there within, the day came for the royal wedding. You had never seen the kingdom more abuzz. Not even when King T’Challa ascended the throne. Merchants in the Golden City sold ceremonial vestments for wedding attendees. Musicians appeared on seemingly every block, filling the air with sounds of celebration. Residents adorned their windows and doors with wreaths and bells. Even shrubs and trees were decorated for the occasion. 

Royal nuptials were a concept less than familiar to you. Of course, you had attended and been a part of numerous village weddings. Smaller festivities attended by extended family and many friends. Those celebrations could hardly hold a candle to today’s. 

You awoke before sunrise to begin your tasks. While you had been together during your training, Hana and Nkechi were given assignments that differed from yours. Hana was to serve as a bridal attendant. She was instructed to protect Nakia before and during the wedding ceremony. Nkechi was charged with guarding Princess Shuri before and during the ceremony. You, as was predicted, were given the task of protecting Prince N’Jadaka during the ceremony. He was to remain in his rooms until the nuptials began. 

Days before, Nkechi had whispered to you all that, if N’Jadaka’s behavior at the event was deemed appropriate, he would be granted free reign of the royal grounds. If Prince N’Jadaka still had ambitions of usurping the throne (a second time), the wedding would be the perfect place to attempt it. Every member of the Wakandan royal family would be in attendance, as well as leaders from around the region. In your heart, you knew he had no desire for such a thing. He had already lost so much and been given so much mercy from his family. There was far too much at stake.

The early morning sped by in a flurry. High noon--the hour of the wedding--was just around the corner. The entire palace was in a whirlwind. The halls were filled with Dora Milaje, foreign diplomats, tribal representatives. The list went on and on. Everyone had a task to complete; you were on your way to the most difficult part of yours.

You approached the prince’s chambers with hesitation.

_Strange._

The apprehension twisting in your stomach was a feeling you had not felt for some time. It was not fear that needled the back of your skull. N’Jadaka had never hurt you and you knew that he never would. When no other explanation entered your mind, you shrugged off the feeling and opened the door.

Upon entering, you gasped at the sight before you.

N’Jadaka stood dressed in wedding finery, looking every bit the prince he was. He wore a tunic and trousers of woven silk. The threads, heavily embroidered with symbols of wealth and fertility, shone on the midday sunlight. The borders of the attire weighed heavily with glass and metal beading. Across his shoulders lay a sash of silk and flax, the colors of which distinguished him as a member of the Udaku clan. His hair was braided back, neater than you had ever seen it. Truthfully, this was the best you had ever seen him look in the months you had known him. He radiated a certain contentment, a certain comfort you had never seen him wear.

N’Jadaka smirked when he spied the surprise on your face. He held his arms open wide and turned about slowly to give you a full view.

“I look that good, huh?” The smug look on his face had you rolling your eyes.

He did look good. You had been just about to say as much but you didn’t want to feed his ego. So, you dodged the question, preferring to redirect to a different topic. A safer one.

“Are you prepared for the wedding ceremony,” you asked.

“Yeah,” he replied, dusting off his trousers. “T’Challa came by this morning to teach me a few things. Brought me my fit.”

You nodded. It pleased you that the king was the one to teach his cousin these things. Perhaps, they could form some sort of relationship. Bast willing, a friendship. N’Jadaka didn’t have anyone else in the world.

“Are you ready,” you repeated, tilting your head at him. This would be his first time outside, except for his recreational hours. The first time facing his family, save for the king. It would be his first time before the people of Wakanda since the coup attempt. Who knew how the people would receive him? 

He cleared his throat and squared his shoulders. He looked your way; but he looked beyond, not really seeing you.

“Let’s do this.”

You lead the prince through a back hallway to avoid encountering anyone on your trek. Most everyone was making their way to the square where the marriage would take place. Still, there was no room for risk.

Your silent journey went without incident, N’Jadaka stoic at your side. Winding turns and narrow hallways, dark stairs and heavy doors. Finally, you reached the antechamber to the expansive balcony--where the ceremony would take place. Even behind the thick, Jabari wood doors, you could hear the deafening cheers of the crowd outside. The floor beneath your feet hummed with the vibrations of the masses. Surely, thousands of proud Wakandans were congregated on the palace grounds. 

“Once I give the signalling knock, two Dora Milaje will open the doors for your entrance. You will then take your place across from the Queen Mother. His Highness and his betrothed will enter last, together. You are ready?” You were unsure just how much more you would feel inclined to ask such of the prince.

He nodded, clasping his hands in front of him.

“Wait,” he called, just as you raised your spear to the doors.

You paused, afraid he had changed his mind about participating at all. You had no idea what you would tell His Highness if N’Jadaka never showed. He would never fault you for it, but it would reflect poorly on you as a Dora. It would likely drive an even deeper wedge between the prince and his family. How would the pe--

“Where will you be?” N’Jadaka’s voice pulled you from your thoughts. You hadn’t expected that.

“Um--” you stuttered eloquently. “I will be behind you. I will be ready for anything.”

N’Jadaka nodded. He seemed somehow reassured by your words. 

“I’m ready.”

You raised the base of your spear to the door and rapped seven times. The doors opened slowly. The sound deafening sound of cheers crashed over you like a wave. You had only heard such a sound at the King’s coronation.

Sunlight poured in as the doors opened, bathing the prince in a golden glow. Any hesitance or trepidation that he felt was hidden behind a reticent expression. He held his head high and stepped out into the large balcony. You followed behind him, eyes sharp. 

Despite the egregious errors the prince made in the past. Despite the sins he committed, the blood on his hands--the crowd erupted as the N’Jadaka came into view. An elder announced the entrance and the masses only increased in their jubilation. Even the queen smiled at him in greeting. You were elated. Your fears for the prince’s future had been for naught. The people of Wakanda were welcoming their lost son with open arms. You bit your tongue to keep from breaking into a grin, to keep tears of happiness from falling down your face.

You looked out into the horizon. Bast had truly smiled on this day. The weather was perfect. The sun shone gentle and bright. A sweet-smelling breeze billowed in the hundreds of banners and garlands strewn about. Every pillar, every wall, every surface was bedecked in the kingdom’s colors. Drapes adorned with minuscule gems and seed pearls sparkled in the sunlight. Rare blossoms were arranged on the smooth stone platform. The air was heavy with the sweet, husky scent of flowers and burning resin. The ground hummed with the thump of thousands of feet as they stepped in time to the chanting of the elders. The ceremony had yet to start, but the moment already felt holy.

A sudden buoyant beating of drums signaled the impending arrival of the bride and groom. The anticipation of the event fluttered ‘round your belly. The grip on your weapon tightened. You were elated, but you could not afford to be distracted by the emotion of the moment.

The doors opened once more to reveal the cause of the celebration. King T’Challa and Nakia walked onto the balcony, hand in hand. The din of the crowd rose to a swell as King T’Challa and Nakia made their way to the dais. The king looked stately in his tunic and trousers. His chest and wrists decorated with heirloom gold and vibranium adornments. A stole of fur adorned his shoulder; he carried a staff in one hand. But, the real star was his bride. Nakia wore the rich forest green of her tribespeople. The gown draped around her looked simple and plain at first glance. But, with a closer look, one could see the tiny Wakandan typography embroidered onto the fabric. The vibranium-infused threads caught the sunlight just right. Her hair was braided in the intricate fashion befitting a bride. A gossamer-thin veil draped across her head and shoulders. She shined brighter than any star in the sky. 

You greeted Hana and Nkechi with a subtle nod. They took their place behind their charges. Both Princess Shuri and Queen Ramonda were protected by senior members of the force. The Queen Mother looked at her son and soon-to-be daughter-in-law with a smile that reached even past her eyes. She smiled from her full self, watching her only son continue to make herself and the homeland proud. This union symbolized the survival of Wakanda’s legacy, that the nation would continue to thrive and excel. 

Though fully invested in the emotion of the fete, you kept your gaze sharp and watchful as the priests began the ceremony. You stood guard behind N’Jadaka, ready for any threat. Your vigilant gaze flicked from N’Jadaka to the crowd and back. You would not forget your training: to be watchful even in times of rest. Despite the restlessness of your legs underneath you, you resisted the urge to shuffle your feet. One lapse of focus was all it could take. 

The elder began her lesson to the bride and groom. She spoke of the history of the nation and the origin of the matrimonial rituals. She spoke of the traits and habits that made for a healthy and everlasting marriage. She invoked the betrotheds’ ancestors for their blessing over the union. When she was finished, an elder anointed both King T’Challa and Nakia’s brows with fragrant oil. The time for Prince N’Jadaka’s part was almost nigh. The prince looked surprisingly relaxed. He stood tall, shoulders straight as a priest turned and handed him the reed basket of flower petals for the next part of the ceremony. He stepped forward for his part, arms outstretched. He carefully placed the petals over the embers of the burnt offering--representing the tribe of the father. Queen Ramonda stepped forward in the same manner, dropping wood ash over the embers to represent the tribe of the mother. Another elder circled the couple with the smoldering bowl, drenching them in smoke. In unison, the priest, elders, and crowd of thousands recited a prayer in unison. One for health, wealth, and fertility. 

At the conclusion of the prayer, the priest recited, “It is done.”

The crowd erupted into cheers somehow louder than before. Your ears rang with the whoops and cries of thousands of your people. No doubt, your family was present too. Cheering for the marriage of the King and his bride. And maybe cheering for you too. Nakia would remain a princess until her coronation ceremony and ritual. But, with the marriage legal and binding, she was officially a member of the royal family--The Crown Princess. 

“Wakanda forever,” burst from somewhere among the masses. The cheer became a chant as flowers petals rained from the sky. King T’Challa smiled crookedly at his new bride, frozen with awe and excitement. Queen Ramonda looked at the couple fondly. Princess Shuri and Prince N’Jadaka both attempted to look reserved; neither could hide their happiness. Anyone witnessing the happiness in the moment would be unable to share in its warmth.

King T’Challa and Crown Princess Nakia saluted the crowd as they passed through the double doors and back into the palace. Their guards retreated next. Queen Ramonda followed, with her daughter close behind. Hana and two other senior Dora Milaje passed between the doors. You turned to Nkechi in puzzlement. She should have followed behind her charge. As you were about to question it, her face darkened into a predatory smile.

“Wakanda forever,” she cried. She lunged forward, spear aimed straight at the prince’s heart. 

Body in action before your mind could even register its movements, you deflected Nkechi’s strike. But not without injury. N’Jadaka groaned in pain as the spearhead caught him just under the clavicle--no doubt opening old wounds. Blood dripped heavily onto the ground. Petals stuck underfoot, darkened with ichor.

You had to think fast and remember your training. Nkechi’s mission was clearly to assassinate the prince--and in front of the entire kingdom. Could you sway her with your words? Could you best her in combat? You had to try. You had received the same combat training. You knew her style--but she knew yours.

“Nkechi,” you began cautiously, as you backed the prince toward the door. “You do not want to do this.”

She barked a laugh.

“Of course, I do. You took the first opportunity from me,” she menaced. “You will not do so again.”

_What?_

If you kept her talking, perhaps she could be distracted.

“Nkechi, you are my sister. I only want good things for you, for your future,” you urged as you deflected another blow. You prayed that you could find an opportunity to retrieve the blades hidden beneath your clothes. It was custom to keep them at your ankles. However, by some miracle, you decided to abscond them on your back. 

“You do not want to do this, usisi,” you continued. “It is treason.”

“Treason? The traitor behind you did that very thing and they gave him a crown. I will be a hero when I put him down,” Nkechi snarled. She feigned a lunge to your abdomen. Hitting you with a roundhouse kick to the ribs when you raised your spear to defend yourself. The impact of the kick sent colliding into the prince, your back to his chest. Ever the well-mannered, you nearly took the time to apologize. This was surely not the time.

 _This spear will not do_ , you thought. This was a time to close combat weaponry. If only you could reach behind--

You nearly jumped as you felt the butterfly swords slip from under your armor. N’Jadaka placed one in your hand before grabbing your spear and putting the second blade in its place. Now, all three of you were armed.

“So, the prince wishes to fight for his life? To die with honor?”

You willed N’Jadaka to stay behind you. Nkechi’s fighting style was to go straight for her opponent’s most vulnerable spots. She had studied anatomy more closely than any of you. 

_She’s been planning this._

In the background, the crowd murmured and gasped, hollered and screamed. This was not what they were supposed to see. The wedding was a union of two tribes. Nkechi threatened to undo any good will built by today’s celebration. 

Time stood still as each appraised their adversary. One wrong move and the course of Wakandan history could be changed forever. Another, and your life could end in a blink. You had to be quick but careful. 

Suddenly, one of the heavy doors began to open.

“Your Majesty!” The voice was a familiar one. Hana’s.

You never took your eyes away from Nkechi’s, but you knew what Hana was doing. She was trying to bring the prince to safety. It wouldn’t do for the people to see him fight. They had seen it before. Nkechi watched as Prince N’Jadaka inched toward Hana’s outstretched hand. She leapt forward, spear raised above her head. Just like she did during combat training. And just as you did during training, you barreled into her before her feet touched the ground. Her spear clattered to the floor. The two of you landed in a heap. Hana used this time to pull N’Jadaka through the doors to safety. You hoped that she was also getting someone to detain Nkechi. In your months of sparring practice with her, you nearly always lost.

“You will not best me,” Nkechi spat. “You never could and you never will.”

Was this who Nkechi had always been? Those months you all spent together studying, training, hoping that you would one day be worthy of initiation. How much of it had been real? Had she pursued the path of Dora Milaje just to get close to the prince? 

You and Nkechi grappled for the upperhand. Your grip tightened on your blades. If you lost even one of them, you feared you would soon lose worse. She slipped you onto your side, the force sent bolts of pain through your already sore ribs. Her knee jabbed into your sternum. The blow knocked the wind from your lungs. While you gasped for breath, she forced you onto your back and pinned you down. She twisted your leg behind her back at a dangerous angle. Bent any further and a few ligaments would snap. With your free leg, you kneed Nkechi in the back, sending her forward. Using the shift in weight to your advantage, you rolled her to the ground. She grunted in surprise and shot you a nasty look. Before she could retaliate, you rolled over her and pulled her back to your chest. You wrapped your legs around her torso and squeezed. Both blades crossed at her neck. You pressed the cool metal flush against her throat. 

Nkechi lifted her chin, sliding the weapons even closer to her skin.

“Do it. I will die a hero, sister. While you live at the beck and call of a traitor,” she ground out.

You swallowed to fight the lump forming in your throat. This was not what you wanted. This was not how it was supposed to be. Becoming a Dora Milaje was meant to protect and preserve the righteousness of your nation. Now, you faced the decision of whether or not to harm one of your own. You had never taken a life before. It was not to be considered lightly. Your grandmother had taught you that all life was sacred; a notion never to be questioned. 

You tightened your hold on Nkechi, but didn’t dare move the blades into her flesh.

“Do not make me do this,” you whispered hoarsely. Your knuckles ached from gripping the sword hilts for so long.

“Afraid you don’t have the stomach for it,” Nkechi posed with a laugh. “You’d rather lick the wounds of the traitor prince, hm?”

Your blood boiled. How dare she question you as if she were superior. She was willing to take a man’s life for the sake of some ill-crafted scheme. Eager to upend all of the nation’s progress for a grudge she was too immature to throw away. You bit harshly at your lip to keep from cursing her. You took a deep, slow breath to keep from silencing her idle talk. You thanked Bast for the gift of patience and prayed that help would come soon. 

Ayo and General Okoye burst through the heavy door. The Queen Mother strode behind them, two armed guards at her side.

“Stand down,” Okoye commanded. Her voice softened slightly when she called your name.

Immediately, you released Nkechi from the thigh hold. You were minutely less willing to free her from between your sword. Still, you followed orders, dropping your weapons onto the ground with a clang. Ayo and Okoye jerked Nkechi onto her feet and quickly into a pair of arm cuffs.

Before they led her away, Okoye turned to you with an order.

“Once you have received medical care, do make haste to the Prince. He has refused treatment from anyone else,” she said as she and Ayo hoisted Nkechi through the doors. The Queen stayed behind to address the crowd, most of whom had remained to see the entire spectacle. Though T’Challa was King, the Queen Mother had more experience seeing the people through a debacle of such magnitude.

Queen Ramonda nodded to you as she stepped to the edge of the balcony. One of her guards helped you to your feet.

“Good work, little sister,” she whispered to you.

You sped through the palace corridors, ignoring the burning stiffness in your legs. The hallways were full of people scurrying this way and that. You blended right in with your frantic pace. The typically quiet corners of the spacious place were buzzing with murmurs of what had just transpired. None of it reached your ears, though. You had only one thing on your mind.

You sidestepped the first half of Okoye’s orders to you. You knew that any injuries you had were minor--bruises and lacerations at most. You were well-armored. N’Jadaka, on the other hand, hadn’t had a speck of armor on him. Your stomach turned as you recalled how his blood had spilled on the stone of the dais. If only you had been faster, quicker to draw, he wouldn’t have been hurt at all. It was only a miracle that Nkechi hadn’t struck you down where you stood. This was the only time you had ever bested her in battle. Had she thrown the fight? 

At last reaching your chambers, you tossed a mishmash of medicines into your satchel. Truly unsure of what you might need. There was hardly anything you kept in the Prince’s chambers anymore. It had been months since he had required any major medical care.

From there, you raced to find the Prince. Okoye hadn’t told you where he was and you had been too blind with adrenaline to ask. He likely didn’t go to the infirmary. It wouldn’t make sense to go to the courtyard. That left his bedchambers. 

You sprinted there straightaway. Eyes trained ahead, avoiding the curious and alarmed looks of the foreign emissaries still scrambling to find their rooms. In such haste, you nearly collided with a blond American and the red-headed woman walking beside him. 

Finally reaching the prince’s chamber door, you smacked your hand against the lock and barreled in--nearly tripping over your feet in the process. N’Jadaka sat at the wooden table where you nearly always treated his wounds. Still dressed in his wedding finery, though the sparkling color of his tunic was dull with dried blood. One hand applied pressure to the wound, the other rested in a fist on his knee. He looked up in apprehension before he recognized you. His shoulders eased when he did and a lazy smile slid across his face. 

“I was wonderin’ when you’d get here,” he chuckled. He winced as another jolt of pain shot through his shoulder.

You said nothing. Preferring, instead, to lay out the things you would need. Your mind sped as you planned his care. The wound was deep, certainly piercing the muscle. You would need to first stop the bleeding. Then, you could clean and seal the wound.

Gauze, river water, liquid bandage, pressure bandage, comfrey salve...

“So, you ignorin’ me now?”

You remained silent. Preferring, instead, to gently pull his hand from his shoulder. You hoped he didn’t notice your fingers trembling. Expression detached, you firmly pressed a clean bandage to the injury. You held it there for a long, agonizing moment. You kept your gaze on the back of your hands, trying not to think of the dried blood between your fingers. N’Jadaka was silent; whether from exhaustion or annoyance, you didn’t know.

“Lift your arms, Your Highness,” you said quietly.

“Gotcha. You just not gon’ answer my question. Alright.” But he did as he was told.

You pursed your lips. The less you spoke to him, the better. Lately, your conversations had grown deeper than just the weather. If you weren’t careful, you would do something you shouldn’t. Your thoughts were already there.

You pulled a pair of trauma shears from your bag. Carefully, you cut away the ripped and stained tunic from his chest and pushed the fabric down his arms and onto the floor. Dried blood trailed down his torso. He had lost more than you thought.

You went about cleaning the wound and assessing for damage. Satisfied that nothing too major had been lacerated, you cleaned and covered the wound in the clear sealant from Princess Shuri’s lab. Even with the advanced treatment, the wound would heal painfully. You gently massaged salve into the inflamed surrounding skin to aid calm the swelling; it would help with the itch of the bandage too. After tending to the injury, you cleaned the dried blood from his waist and chest. The ichor only emphasized the scars on his skin. 

_Just how much pain will he endure in this life?_

You were startled as a hand carefully gripped your chin. With the back of his knuckles, he caressed your cheek--hand coming away wet. You hadn’t realized you had been crying. The prince said not a thing; you neither. But his eyes--dark brown and as bottomless as the sea--studied you. You wondered what he saw when he looked at you. If he could read your thoughts, could sense your heart racing. Even so, you didn’t trust your mind to win over your heart and say something sensible. So, you bit your lip and remained silent.

Turning from the prince’s gentle grasp, you turned back to your work. You wet a cloth in river water and cleaned his blood-crusted hands. You turned them this way and that as you wiped them, studying the markings and lines there. The water in the bowl turned the color of rust as you rinsed the cloth.

The prince out of view, you found the courage to open your mouth.

“I could have lost you,” you choked out, embarrassed by the quaver of your voice. Your throat was thick with all things you were too afraid to say.

“Does that scare you?”

You clenched your jaw. He wanted you to be open. To confess all that you buried deep. You couldn’t. You had a duty to your country. Emotion would have to wait. You would bury this somewhere sunless; it couldn’t be allowed to grow. Tension rolled off your face. You blinked the tears back to where they belonged.

The mask was on.

“I am almost finished, Your Highness,” you said evenly.

Towel in hand, you gingerly dried the water from the prince’s body. You took both his hands in your grasp and began to dry those too. As you turned his palms over, his grip encased your wrists. He pulled you, suddenly, down onto his lap.

“Wha--.”

“I told you about that ‘Your Highness’ mess. I’m just N’Jadaka. You know me,” he said firmly.

His hold on your wrists was gentle. You could have pulled away if you wanted to. 

If you wanted to.

“Don’t shut me out. You’re all I got.”

You finally looked at him. You shouldn’t have. His face was so close. The postmeridian light in his brown eyes made them burn bright like iron in a fire. The vulnerability you saw there. The openness. It made you gasp.

You cleared your throat before you spoke.

“N’Jadaka, let me go,” you whispered. 

“I’m not holdin’ you down,” he said. It was partly true. The hands that once gripped your wrists now caressed your palms. 

He was studying you again. His gaze was searching yours for something. Fear. Hesitation. Something. When it seemed he didn’t find it, he leaned his face close to yours. 

Your brow furrowed. The corner of your lip caught between your teeth. Erik’s hand ghosted to your waist. With the other, he cupped your chin. A vein in his jaw pulsed. He was looking at you so intently. So intensely.

You held your breath as first his nose, then his lips brushed against yours. They were as soft as they looked. Softer, even. The hand on your chin moved to caress your arm, your shoulder, your throat. The tickle of his touch there made you shiver. It woke you up. You shook your head, face growing warm. Throat tightening.

“We can’t do this,” you whispered.

“Why not?” His hands trailed to your hips. The caress sent another chill through you. No one had ever touched you like this before. It was fervent, but gentle still. Hands ghosting over your body gingerly as if you were a calf about to bolt.

“You are third in line to the throne that I have vowed to serve. I have a duty to my country,” you breathed.

“I’m not asking to walk away from that,” he said, expression soft. His face still a hair’s breadth from yours.

“Then, for what are you asking?” 

“Not to walk away from me, from this. You want to run; I can see it in your face,” 

You cursed yourself silently for letting the mask slip away. It would be so much simpler to resume the distance that you once had between yourself and the Prince. To put on the warrior’s mask and resume your duty as you had once performed it. But now had both barreled headfirst into something unknown and potentially dangerous. A relationship of this kind was unheard of. Could it even continue to exist? To thrive? Perhaps, in secret. But for how long?

“I do not know how to do this,” you confessed. “I’ve never--.” Your throat tightened again. You could feel the tears returning.

“I got you,” he assured. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

It was true that, with his title, he could shield you from the most severe repercussions--whatever they might be. But as Wakanda’s prodigal son, there was only so much he could do.

He kissed you urgently then. He kissed you with a firmness that grounded you. The proximity of his chest to yours, his warmth brought you forth from your rumination and back to the present. He broke the kiss for a moment to wipe your tears away with his thumbs. Drawing in a trembling breath, you hesitantly placed your hands on his chest. You didn’t know what else to do with your hands. Obviously unoffended, N’Jadaka draped your arms around his neck--pulling you ever closer.

“Stay,” he said. You were unsure if he meant the present or the future. To remain here with him in his quarters or in this uncertain romance.

Regardless of his meaning you answered with, “I will”.

And you did for a while. Both of you sitting in silence, listening to the sounds of steady breaths. Your arms around his neck; his hands gripping your waist. Foreheads resting against the other’s; eyes trailing over valleys and plains. 

“I must go,” you sighed. “The General will begin to suspect something.”

N’Jadaka nodded, rising to stand after you did.

You cleaned up your things. Leaving behind a few necessary jars and pots.

“Come back.” A request rather than a demand. His plaintive gaze told you so. 

“I will,” you assured, eyes looking up to his.

“Promise,” he asked with the ghost of a crooked smile on his features.

“I swear it,” you replied, face growing warm.

Entering the hallway, you tried to fill your lungs with a deep breath and found you couldn’t. Your chest constricted painfully, breath came in shallow gasps. 

What had you done?

The walls began to close in on you. The floor beneath your feet drifted in a dizzying sway. Heat began to prick your temples; black dots appeared in your vision. Thankfully, the halls had cleared from the earlier frenzy. Still, you ran off into a washroom to avoid any scrutiny. You dropped your bag to the floor with a clatter. No doubt breaking something in the process. You hardly cared. You just needed something, anything to stop the room from spinning.

You went to the sink and turned on the flow. You splashed frigid water onto your face again and again, breath coming in piscine gasps. Droplets ran down your face, your head, your ears. A puddle formed at your feet. Knuckles paled as hands gripped the edge of the basin. In the mirror, your reflection stared back at you. Face glistening with cool drops, shoulders tense. 

_Am I losing control?_

You shook your head, hoping to clear your thoughts. Still, they swirled. 

What were you thinking, falling in love with a prince? And not just any prince, The Prince of Wakanda. Bast was surely laughing at you. This was a twist of fate you could have never predicted. A romance, affair, tryst, whatever-it-was with the Found Son of N’Jobu. It had to be treasonous. It surely felt that way. A man of his lineage should marry someone of the same class. Not that he had asked for your hand. Not that you wanted him to. Bast, this was too much.

After cleaning up the mess you made in the washroom, you hurried back to your quarters. If you were needed, the General would get the message to you. 

Your chambers, no longer in the novice dormitory, were vacant. Hana was nowhere to be seen. It appeared she had not returned since leaving for the ceremony this morning. Nkechi’s side of the room was...bare? Her clothing was gone. The trinkets she had brought from home were missing, as well. Even her bed was stripped of its linens. Any sign of her and been wiped clean from the room.

Your stomach sank to the floor. 

She was likely in custody, held in a room just like N’Jadaka first was. Possibly the very same one the Prince had stayed in. The irony wasn’t lost on you.

Later that evening, You and Hana were briefed on Nkechi’s fate. Ayo met with the two of you and informed you that Nkechi would be tried for treason. She would surely be convicted. Nearly the entire nation had seen her attempt on the Prince’s life. There was hardly any defense possible for her actions. Her soundness of mind would be questioned; but, as a newly-initiated Dora Milaje, that excuse would hardly stick. You wondered what punishment they would subject her to. Without a doubt, she would be excommunicated from the Dora with no hope to ever return. Perhaps, they would ban her from the Golden City and banish her to a remote village. Maybe, they would simply require manual labor or rehabilitation for her punishment. The King was known for his mercy--but even he had his limits. 

As night blanketed the kingdom, the festivities continued. The entire nation was alive with song and dance. Bonfires lit and feasts prepared. You didn’t feel like joining in. After the day’s events, your body and your spirit were exhausted. You needed a good meal and an even better rest. After you saw to the Prince. 

You crept down the palace hallways, moving quietly to avoid drawing attention to yourself. Anyone you would come across would surely ask why you weren’t heading toward the celebrations. Your plan was to arrange a dish of wedding refreshments for the Prince. Due to his injuries, he would miss the dancing and the music there was no reason he should miss out on the food too. 

Rather than take the main hallway, you cut through the Queen’s orchid room. Just as you passed the glass case of rare blooms, a familiar face crossed your path. You crossed your arms in salute before speaking. 

“General, I did not expect to see you here,” you stuttered.

General Okoye tilted her head in amusement.

“Funny, you were exactly who I was trying to find by looking here,” she replied with the ghost of a smile across her face.

You couldn’t help but to furrow your brow in confusion. Why had she been looking for you?

“How is Prince N’Jadaka recovering,” she asked.

You shifted on your feet. 

“He is faring well. The wound will affect his range of motion for some time. But, I am confident that he will soon regain strength there,” you replied. You had a feeling there was something else she was fishing for. It was not your place to ask.

“And how do you fare?” She peered at you intensely. You had seen that look before during training sessions. Was this a test?

“Very well, thank you. I did need some time to collect myself for a moment.”

Okoye nodded, looking away. Her eyes were on an arrangment of unopened flowers, but it seemed her mind was elsewhere.

“I know that dreadful, sick feeling when you see someone you love suffering,” she mused.

With her gaze elsewhere, you allowed your jaw to drop. You closed your mouth hurriedly, struggling to recompose yourself. 

“I am sorry; I do not understand,” you said with feigned calm.

She looked at you then. Her eyes heavy with something you had never seen in them. Pity? 

Without another word, she raised her left arm and activated the kimoyo beads that rested there. With a flick of her fingers, the beads began to project a live video feed with crystal-clear audio. The camera surveillance shifted to reveal the Prince shuffling around the room, humming to himself.

Here in the sequestered orchid room, in quiet opposition to the boisterousness of the rest of the kingdom, you felt your world come crashing down. The air was fragrant with the nectar of delicate blooms, but your mouth felt dry. Pins and needles danced across your skin as you struggled to come up with something, anything to say.

The General beat you to it. 

“Though the King has access to the surveillance, he has not used it. This assignment began as an element of your training. For that reason, only I have viewed the footage of the Prince’s quarters and his time outside,” she stated. 

“General, I know that I have committed a grave error. Perhaps, I have even committed treason. I have put the desires of my heart over the future of the kingdom. I will take whatever punishment I deserve for what I have done. If I must give up my spear, I will do so. If I must be exiled, I will accept that. But, I cannot undo what has been done. And I fear, given the chance, that I would change nothing.”

Okoye said your name quietly. She neared you and took your hands in hers, giving them a squeeze.

“I am under no obligation to share this information with the King. You completed your responsibilities as they were assigned to you. In all these months, you have given no reason to doubt your abilities as a Dora Milaje. Whether this remains a secret is not my decision. It is something that must be revealed to the King by the parties involved.” She looked at you pointedly.

“All I can do is offer my advice,” she continued. “There is no precedent for a relationship such as this. But, that may be to your advantage. If no rules exist, then there cannot exist any punishments. However, if you wish to continue what you have built with the Prince, you must be ready to accept the trials that may come. Prince N’Jadaka has only just begun to rebuild his standing in the kingdom and has already survived one attempt on his life. Let your love for him help this, not hinder.”

You nodded mutely. Okoye had just given you her blessing. All that was left to do was speak to N’Jadaka.

Once again, you stood outside the Prince’s door. The biometric lock had been deactivated sometime earlier in the day. All you had to do was press open the door and you would face him. The truth. The future. 

Upon entering the room, N’Jadaka greeted you with a smile that you couldn’t help but to return. The dimples in his cheeks deepened. Even with a fresh injury, he seemed lighter, more at ease. He had even managed to pull on a lounge shirt in your absence.

“Hey, ma,” he greeted. “What’s this?”

“Some of the wedding feast. It didn’t seem fair that you miss out on it.” You set the food on the table, arranging it as if you two were indeed at the banquet.

The two of you ate in relative comfort. You skirted over more serious topics, preferring to compare Wakandan and American wedding traditions. N’Jadaka told you about the African-American tradition of jumping the broom and its origins. You described the elements of the royal wedding ceremony and how it varied by tribal affiliation. As plates were cleaned, conversation lulled. You leant against the kitchen counter, licking coconut rice pudding off your spoon. 

“Some’ on your mind,” N’Jadaka asked. He had been watching you.

You dropped the spoon with a sigh and turned to face him. There was no use beating around the bush.

“General Okoye knows about us. She has been monitoring camera footage of your quarters and the recreational space,” you confessed.

N’Jadaka made a noncommittal sound. He picked up your spoon and finished the dessert you had left behind.

“You are unconcerned,” you asked, folding your arms over your chest. “She could have told the King.”

“And?” He smacked his lips, dipping more of the confection into the bowl. “Is that supposed to be a problem?”

You sputtered. Truly, this man feared nothing. 

“I overthrew the Wakandan government and tried to assassinate the King. Yet, here I am eatin’ wedding food in an apartment with a full view of the Golden City. You think they gon’ execute you or some’?”

“I do not know what they will do,” you whispered, wringing your hands.

N’Jadaka’s face softened. He set down the bowl and opened his arms, wincing just slightly from the pain.

“Come here,” he beckoned. 

You obliged and stepped into his open arms, legs between his. You placed your hand against his chest; he placed his on the small of your back.

“A relationship like this is unheard of,” you said, taking a trembling breath. “It has never been because it should not be. You are born to be with someone of high standing, someone of high quality.”

N’Jadaka pursed his lips.

“Look, whatchu not ‘bout to do is talk down on yourself. Especially not in front of me,” he chided.

He brushed his hand against your cheek and tilted your chin to look you in the eye.

“You saved my life today. You forget that? You saved me. Every day you’ve come in here, you come with nothin’ but compassion. No matter what I did, no matter how much I pissed you off--.”

You opened your mouth to contradict him.

“Aht, I know I’ve worked your nerves. But you still took care of me--cared for me.” His hands returned to your back. Unconsciously, you leaned closer into his embrace. “Let me return the favor, a’ight?”

You bit your lip, looking up at the Prince from under your lashes. You felt, suddenly, vulnerable. You had never thought twice about your duty to the Prince. Sure, you had been reluctant to see to him. But, it was your duty. And it had led to something more. 

“I can handle T’Challa. I’m not about to let anything happen to you, us. You been protectin’ me; let me return the favor,” he said earnestly.

“Alright,” you breathed. 

N’Jadaka gave you a crooked smile. His hands drifted to your arms before settling in either side of your face. 

You didn’t know who leaned in first, but your lips met his. You wrapped your arms around his neck as he pulled you ever closer. His lips moved with yours, passionate but careful. When you broke apart, he placed a soft kiss on your temple.

“I need you to trust me. I gotchu.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: we did it!! can’t believe i wrote my first completed series! shoutout to the tumblr anon that sent in the prompt that inspired this whole thing. a chonky chunk of that drabble has been reworked into this chapter. Aaaand, there’s gonna a sequel...at an indefinite time. You can probably guess the title.


End file.
